#i thought it was weird joes in mexico???

[andrwgarfields]

I was making fun of the HS stans for expecting season 4 announcement tomorrow but here I'm thinking there are some Agatha stuff going on because Ali and Joe are in Mexico and D+ changed the trailer's caption to "season 1 trailer" 🤡

This is literally ME!!!!! Lowkey giggling at those begging for an s4 announcement but then I saw someone mentioned ali was in mexico too and my brain just went 💡💡💡 lmaoooo delusional is our middle name 😭

[mmoxie]

Part 11 - Bumper Sticker

Seebs sat on Craig's kitchen table, pawing lazily at an empty Captain's Wafers wrapper. There was still some "grilled cheese"-flavored dust inside, and by god, it was his.

Dani opened her second pack of crackers and leaned back in the booth seat that wrapped around the folding dinner table. It had been a week since Globe Rock, and she was still reeling. It was enough to make her break into little bouts of miserable laughter, whenever she had an idle moment and realized that despite all that, she still had to go into work.

Something was different about her, now. She wasn't any smarter or suddenly at peace with herself, but the fear of the unknown was gone. She knew the hell out of what was going on. Immersed in Craig's world of "cocaine engineering," she spent her free time listening to him -snif- and report back with his crusty-looking Skype buddies. When they said things like "unconscious equations" and "Fresno compass" and "Erba channel," she could find the edges of those puzzle pieces and stick them together.

These weird old men were using decades-old computing technology to- as she understood it- find pits, warps, and holes in the fabric of three-dimensional space. Soft sites, "liminal spaces," in the parlance of the multi-hour Youtube documentaries she had taken to watching, were as good as it got on Earth for gaining access to the fourth and fifth dimensions.

Those were new- fourth, time, that was easy enough to visualize. You're a cube- three sides, solid object, moving linearly in one direction- forward, same direction as time.

But the fifth- they called it a lot of things, but it seemed to her to be a tensor that acted on the flow of time, some force or shape that agitated it to flow in a certain direction. She heard Craig call it "the wheel," sometimes, and at others "the threading" or "Hoyle pressure."

She tried not to think about whatever project all that jargon was supposed to serve. They were having a "walk" at Turtlebees on Sunday, and the produce section had to be just right. So she thought about that, ways to get ahead of some halfway-up-the-ladder hyperventilator-for-hire who was going to walk through with a clipboard and run a white glove across the artichokes.

Oh, man. Do I really care about that?

She ate another cracker and fished the remote out of the bullshit basket in the middle of the table. No amount of Judge Joe Brown was going to take her mind off of this.

QVC? No, didn't need to buy a commemorative 9/11 coin.

Cartoon Network? Down the tubes ever since they stopped playing an hour of Looney Tunes at noon.

TNN? They called it Spike now. Spike was good when MXC was on, but that was- god, nearly twenty years ago.

I'm so old...

She flipped reflexively past The Weather Channel- they didn't play the jazz anymore- and gave up after landing on one of the thirty or so news channels Craig piped in on his hijacked satellite signal.

"...Out of New Mexico this morning, an update on Mayor Sean, the local politician who went missing a few months ago. Eureka County investigators say that they've identified a tooth belonging to the young social media star, and are zeroing in on a suspect. Based on the condition of the tooth, they say they are expecting to link the evidence to recent cases of arson. When asked for comment, Eureka County Sheriff Bill Kirby said the following-"

Dani slapped at Craig's arm and pointed at the 13" television sitting on the kitchen counter. He looked up from his wheezing laptop at her, frowning under his mustache. She gave him an urgent shake of the head, her mouth full of crackers.

"-We're still optimistic that this was a kidnapping, but given the condition of the evidence, we have reason to suspect that Mr. Knelson may have been harmed. We are advising that, in the event of contact with the victim or his captor, any individual should exercise extreme caution. At this time we are unable to identify a weapon, and-" The sheriff paused to let out a bitter chuckle. He was a thin man, not unlike Craig, but with serious rosacea and a put-on Texan accent. "-The unpredictability alone is reason enough to keep your distance."

Craig and Dani looked at each other for a long time. The old engineer was hard to read behind the glare of his square bifocals, but his mustache twitched, and he drew in a deep, steadying -snif-.

"Alright." He said, and stood. Dani watched as he opened a nearby cabinet and retrieved a sticker-covered suitcase. He popped the little brass latches and retrieved a mass of thick, colorful wool, tightly folded into a square. He tossed it on the table in front of Dani, startling Seebs away from his quest for cheese dust. --For a moment, anyway.

"My wife's aguayo. Don't get it dirty. You wear it around your shoulders, and you can wrap it in such a way that it's -snif- more or less a backpack."

"Craig, we're not going to Peru. Come on."

"You come on. You turned up out of nowhere and put me back to work, at the very least I should get to pick the venue."

"Craig, I've got a walk on Sunday, I can't just disappear from work."

"What the hell is a walk? --People quit their jobs all the time, you should do it more often, it's fun. I'm tempted to quit this one."

Dani groaned and distracted herself by petting Seebs, who automatically rolled onto his back. She buried her fingertips in the fluff of his belly and listened to the old boy purr while weighing her options.

"We flying?" She eventually asked.

"No way. We dump the cars, let 'em go to hock. I've got an old conversion van in Indian Springs. We get that far and swap. Drive to La Libertad, get on a boat. Boat takes us as far as -snif- Chamanga, and then we get another ride and keep driving 'til we hit Ocumal."

"You really have done this before."

"Not this one. Last time I was on the other side of Panama, dropped down from Louisiana and cut through -snif- Honduras and Columbia, then took the Rio Napo southeast into Mazán. Made my way to the coast over the next few months. Had to -snif- keep IBM guessing. This route we're on, that was my Plan B, way back when. But I'm guessing Turtlebees' won't send goons after you."

The urgent, fluent way that Craig Palmer navigated the apparent map in his mind was enough to make Dani really give this whole Peru prospect some thought. And then she thought about her mom, and about Chevette, and about what it would be like to have a little stability in her life.

If I didn't give that up when I barbecued one guy, I definitely did when I barbecued the other.

Well, it's not like I have anything against the place...

But she did have something against leaving, and damn it, Craig needed to hear it. He was elbow-deep in the suitcase and still talking about waterways and boat travel when she got up from the table and set a hand on the vented cabinet door, leaning in close to his face.

"I killed Mark LaGrange."

"Who?"

"Jesus, Craig- the first guy. The one who isn't turning up in the news. All he did was ask me the wrong question at the wrong time, and I scoured him off the face of the Earth."

"Alright, alright. -snif- Sure, I remember. Wilson Titlee. So what about him?"

"I- I don't know. I owe him something. I owe his family, I guess. Before I think about going anywhere, I've got to try and make that right."

"It's manslaughter, Dani, you don't make it right. You can self-flagellate, pay your debt to society, try to make good with his family, but you can't un-kill the sorry bastard."

"Well, I've gotta do something!" She thought she would catch fire from the frustration, but she didn't. She eyed the celestial nametag across the room, pinned to her friendly green apron.

Craig drew himself up and set his hands on his hips. In boat shoes and khaki shorts he wasn't precisely intimidating, but the mustache did a lot of heavy lifting as he barked-

"You've GOTTA get your ass to Peru! I'm not gonna say it again- and your mother would never forgive me if I let it slide- you wanna live? You stay out of jail. You wanna stay out of jail? You go to Peru. You put on your aguayo and you learn some Spanish and a sprinkle of Quechua, and you eat picarones until you're too fat to look like trouble anymore."

His squarish Roosevelt teeth were grit hard, and his eyes were wide with a mixture of urgency and fear. He -snif-fed wetly, and Dani realized that to him, the running had never stopped. This wasn't about how she'd survive. On some level, this was about IBM. She saw herself reflected in his bifocals and realized that if she didn't choose something different, she'd be on the run well into her seventies, just like him.

The houseboat rocked, and they were silent a while, just staring, each waiting for the other, playing psychic chicken and each secretly hoping they'd lose.

But the TV was still on, and it spoke first.

"-We now go to live aerial footage from our Eye-In-The-Sky weather chopper. Handing it over now to our Guy-In-The-Sky, Chief Meteorologist Buddy Chandrasekhar. Buddy!"

"-That's right, Lenora, and I'm here above Yosemite, about four miles north of Paoha Island, you can see Mt. Biedeman passing by just there- but the reason we're reporting in is because of a sudden and unseasonable outbreak of wildfire. As you know we're a few months out from what we'd unfortunately call the 'right season,' but you can actually see the smoke from here- it's actually pouring over the mountain range, we can see it coming east now from Twin Peaks and rolling over Bridgeport, just a wall of smoke. The National Weather Service is issuing an order to evacuate, they'll be sending that to local stations and radio shortly if they haven't already."

"Dani, what the hell is this?" Craig spun away from the cabinet and crossed his arms, frowning at the television.

"Don't look at me! I've been here the whole time!"

They watched as the chopper bore west toward the smoke. Suddenly Craig gripped Dani's shoulder and gave her a shake, pointing at the fuzzy top-right corner of the screen. Something was hovering above the inferno, nearly out of frame. A foo fighter, a Marfa light, fire in the sky- and it suddenly pivoted, throwing itself toward the ground, cutting diagonal across the camera and carving a blaze of angry gray-white light above the low fields of Bridgeport.

Buddy Chandrasekhar wasn't about to let that go. He was the Guy in the Sky. The cockpit pivoted, and the view onscreen with it.

"-Could be a number of things, Lenora. Possibly a micro heat dome from the local bodies of water, agitating particles in the air- might be producing ball lightning, or even a sundog effect on the flames at the core of the outbreak here-"

Craig shook his head and swung himself into the kitchen booth, leaning over the old laptop. His Skype call was still open- but there was a woman onscreen for once, instead of one of his sniffling old colleagues.

"Any ripples, Andi?"

"You're asking me? I'm numb, remember?"

"But you put out the call, right? Anyone get you back?"

"Ugh, everyone's on vacation. There's a SLAPP cell in Tahoe, that's the closest I could get on short notice. And you know Dale sucks."

"Yes, I know Dale sucks. But tell him to put on channel 40."

Dani leaned over Craig's shoulder, looking between the video call and the breaking news. Through several layers of arbitration- first over the phone into this "Andi" person's house, and then out of the speaker, into her microphone, and out of Craig's crackly speakers, came a third voice.

"Private domicile of sovereign citizen Dale Montag, office of diplomatic relations. To whom am I speaking?"

Jesus, thought Dani. And Craig, actually.

"Dale, it's Andi. I'm on the line with Craig. He wants you to put the news on. Channel forty, he says."

"Forty? Ain't that MTV? I don't watch that crap."

Craig loomed over the laptop's pinhole microphone and spoke. "Just put it on Fox or something, Dale. You're looking for a forest fire in Yosemite."

"Already there. You ever buy one of those pillows I told you about?"

The old engineer grit his teeth. "...Not yet, Dale. I need you to go for a walk on my behalf. They reporting on the light in Bridgeport?"

"Something in Bridgeport," Dale replied. He was loud, and tended to put a little extra emphasis on his 'b' sounds. Dani watched Andi onscreen, who regarded her phone with vague displeasure.

"Hoh! Ha, check it out! Look who it is!"

"That's not a good sign," Craig muttered to Dani. "Dale... doesn't exactly root for the underdog. He's a rich get richer type."

"Yeah, I'm between lanes right now. There's- haha, wow, this place has changed since the seventies. Wouldn't expect a square like that kid to turn up here, but..."

Suddenly Dani realized something terrible, and leaned on the table to listen closer.

"It's Mayor Sean! I found him! Oh man, they're gonna give me a medal!"

Whatever Dale was doing, it made Dani's ears tingle. She knew it before he said it.

There was more to Sean Gracie- more to everyone- than the body she had incinerated. She had just made peace with her own rampant shadow, of course she wasn't the single special human being who had one! She might have burned away the physical, three-dimensional body of Mayor Sean, but...

"Holy crap, that's him. I thought he was tripping, but he's just... here. Not a projection, not his consciousness- he left Earth! No wonder the cops are having a hard time finding him, ha!"

"He didn't leave," Dani said, turning away from Craig.

"That's all that's left," he translated for her. "Alright, thanks, Dale, we'll uh- we'll catch up sometime." He rolled his wrist at Andi, encouraging her to go ahead and hang up.

"Yeah, alright, buddy, you know where to find me. Dalesdale has a robust tourism progra-" click.

"This is bad, Craig. I know that little fascist, he's all over my grandkids' youtubes. If he's just sliding along the fourth axle willy-nilly, he can do whatever he wants. Go into dreams, go into places- he's completely unshackled from his body! We've got to put him back!"

"...There is no body," Dani said, holding a bottle of Inca Cola in a shaking hand. She drank before continuing. "I... I made sure of that."

"Well, great talk, Andi! Catch you later, thanks for the help!" Ba-dum.

Craig slammed the laptop shut and set his elbow on it, leaning and looking up at Dani with a deeply exhausted expression.

"So, you haven't been killing people. That's... well, it's not gonna hold up in court, but it's true."

Dani just drank. Her head was spinning. The flaming, vengeful specter of Mayor Sean had followed her across state lines and started a wildfire to flush her out of hiding, that's what it looked like. And that... was bad.

"It slows down our trip, too. We've gotta put this Sean thing to bed before we can hit the road, or he'll set Peru on fire, too." He paused, then gestured for Dani to grab him a drink as well, before continuing.

"America, I could deal with. But not Peru. You killed every part of him that... to be frank, doesn't matter in the long run. All that's left is bad ideas and a bad attitude- and whatever he can find to express himself, in the higher dimensions."

"What do we do?"

Dani looked at her nametag, dangling from her apron beneath that pin she'd claimed from Mark LaGrange's ashes.

Have you Had It lately?

Yeah, Mark. I sure have. And now...

"Oh, you know. Just your typical political assassination. I'll call the CIA, they're great at these," Craig joked, bitterly. He muttered as he reopened the laptop and looked through his contact list. "Would you look at that, nobody from Langley in my rolodex. I guess now that I've bucked them completely, it's the perfect time to get them on my ass again."

Dani pet Seebs and shook her head. "Sorry, Craig. --Look, I made him like this, maybe I can fix it. And- and after it's all said and done, sure, fine, I'll go to Peru with you. For good, if that's what it takes."

It was a long moment before Craig replied, and when he did, he took off his glasses and rubbed his wrinkled forehead.

"I've let you into my home, looked after your cat- he farts, by the way, you didn't mention that- and I really thought that would be the end of it. I thought I'd snuck my way onto easy street thirty years ago."

He picked her cigarettes up off the table and pat the bottom of the pack, then helped himself to one, standing up briefly to light it on the gas stove's pilot light.

"He's gonna be coming for you. What we did at Globe Rock probably put him on your trail. Between now and the next time, we've got to be ready to square off with him. We know we can set up a lure, but once we've got him, we need to know what to do with him."

"Any ideas?"

"You're the one who killed him, Dani. That one's on you. Pack your bags and give it some real, hard thought. Once we get this started, I don't think we're coming back to Fish Camp."

Dani nodded- and then realized she was going to be late for her shift at Turtlebees, catching the time in the corner of the TV screen.

Almost apologetically- though to whom, she was no longer sure- she pulled on her apron and set off for work.

<-Prev Next->

[le-souriant]

#MusicMonday Review - January 2024

#MusicMonday is the hashtag I've been using for quite a while to share music recommendations from up-and-coming artists. Always fresh, and always different, trying to look for trends before they become one. You can check December's review for more music.

Welcome to 2024. We begin this year with an all-English multi-genre round up, with just a taste of current Mexican Pop. Give it a listen, with a word from the artists themselves. 🎧

VIANA – LOCA

Esto apenas va empezar Ya me cansé de qué me inyecten su veneno Muchos sólo hablan pocos somos los que hacemos La voz que llevo dentro afónica ha de estar Hago como que no escucho y no para de gritar

Oye, despierta, date cuenta, ellos no te verán capaz A fin de cuentas, no te mientas, eso tú sabías ya

Ellos intentan, poco a poco, tu ánimo aplastar Mientras más traten, ya ganaste Eso no olvides jamás

The year starts with a bang, straight from Torreón, Mexico. A sincere Latin Pop track about having a dream, and fighting for it, despite what other people might think:

"I started writing this song some time ago, when I had several opinions regarding my decision as to pursuing a singing career. I was, in a way, mad that people doubted I could be able to do so.

LOCA is my response to the criticism, showing them exactly that I'm not crazy for fighting for my dream. And if they thought I would give up, they couldn't be more wrong, since I have a ton of music to share and be heard."

Viduals – Where Did the Time Go?

Caught between forever and after You and me erased, erased, erased

We fly now to Swindon, England, for an Alternative Rock song that takes us to the process of a couple falling to nothing, with many excuses to make:

"The song came about as an exploration into relationships. The track initially started as a bit of a break up song, we wrote the track when we were around 18/19 so it's an older one.

It kinds became less relevant over time so it went through a few iterations. The track evolved over time and now I'd say it charts the whole course of a relationship.

The first verse is the beginning of the relationship where things are hopeful, the second verse things are more shaky, the bridge represents the parting/break up and the outro is the acceptance of this. The track isn't really about anyone in particular it’s more about the theme itself."

Candid Faces – Telephonophobia

You better run, fear leaking out of your pores You better hide, never distant from a buzz or a chime You better run, better lock up all of your doors You better hide, I think they’re slipping into our minds

Let's travel north to Kingston upon Hull, in Yorkshire, for some Post Punk bliss about those silicone spies that reside in our pockets, as band member Joe explains:

"The song started with [band members] Taro and Ben writing the riff and I thought it would suit the song to write lyrics with a lot of nervous energy to them.

The main thing I wanted to write about was privacy in the digital age, I feel like there's a lot of weird aspects to how we interact with technology, as in how companies seem to primarily make the consumer the product through selling their data. I think at the time there was a lot of controversy around Facebook/Meta and data privacy which probably inspired me more than anything.

It was fun working on this EP because it feels like we all had something to offer each track which I think you can really hear on this!!".

Matt Edible & the Obtuse Angels – Mirror Shoes

Look at me I'm vitamin C A picture of health Ain't nothin' but stealth In my Mirror Shoes

I'm a man of the people I'm the best of The Beatles I'm crack cocaine I'm Citizen Kane I'm True Romance I'm The Modern Dance In my Mirror Shoes

We stay in Hull, for a Glam Rock track that will make you put on your suit, head into work, act like a hero, and may end up a jerk:

"A few years ago my partner bought me a shiny pair of platform shoes for Christmas. I loved them so much I declared I'm gonna write a song about these!

The song kind of wrote itself.

It's kind of about the duality of being a rock star that has to do a normal job everyday to pay the bills. It's also about the good and bad in everyone - though some may be better or worse than others..."

The Flitz – Night On My Mind

Right time, wrong decision Feel like going fishing 🐟 New day, do the same thing Get paid, gonna waste it on you What else can I do? Cos you gotta get around in this dead end town

Don't know what you're living for You just want more Sick of everyone who's waiting at the door Everything's gonna be working out in time Into shoetown, night on my mind

We end up our trip in West London, for an Indie Pop song about how a night out in town can be saved by some good ol' rock n roll:

"On the train to my hometown (Northampton) I always saw this massive wall graffiti on the tracks of Euston, platform 6. That's where I got the title from and the lyric “into shoe town, Night On My Mind”. Northampton is historically famous for making shoes, hence shoe town".

#MusicMonday 2023

We say goodbye to 2023 with this year's compilation. 101 titles from original artists covering all types of genres, representing the multiple trends independent artists are proud to establish. Have a listen:

Get into 2024, and much more, on the complete Playlist:

[fourcornersarizona]

Vin I double dog dare you to give a real heartfelt compliment for each one of your friends.--Anon 

Vin I double dog dare you to give a real heartfelt compliment for each one of your friends.

Vin blinks, vaguely amused that this stranger would think such a request to be a challenge, something he has to force the bounty hunter into doing.

“Whelp…” Vin tips his chair back and plants one boot against the boardwalk railing, his eyes traveling toward the patch of sunset-peach sky he can see beyond the covered area. “Chris is a real hand with horses—the best I’ve ever seen a white man do. When Buck ain’t making jokes ‘bout ladies or chasing skirts, he really is good company to pass the time with. JD’s smart as a whip, and learns faster ‘en most folks I’ve met. He does a lot of stupid things, but he only has to do them once . Nathan’s the finest healer I’ve ever met, and makes a good cup of coffee to boot. Ezra, when he ain’t cheatin’, really is a good card player. Don’t even know why he bothers to cheat at poker—he don’t need too. Josiah’s smart… but in a strange way. He’s the guy you go to when you need to learn somethin’ weird ‘bout a culture that ain’t been around since the Bible times.”

Having gone through his closest friends, Vin keeps going. “Now Mrs. Travis is a fine lady, and the fact she can put her printin’ press back together always amazes me. I’m no good with machines like that. Inez,” his cheeks tinge slightly pink, but he plunges ahead, “She’s right pretty, and when she was dancin’ at the 4th of July shindig… well…” he whistles low, the pink quickly turning toward red.

Hurrying past the thought of the woman he is sweet on, he keeps going. “Now Nettie Wells is one of the orneriest women I ever met in my life, and I mean that as a compliment. You gotta be ornery to live out here. Her niece Casey is a spitfire—and I mean that in a good way too. Faintin’ roses don’t last in this country. Little Billy Travis, he’s a sweet little fellow. Likes to bring his slate and lessons book out and try to explain things to me. Judge Travis is a fine man—hard to find an honest lawman these days but he’s worth twelve of them.”

The sun is starting to set but Vin still has a whole list of people he would be willing to say kind things about—Mrs. Potter at the general store, Virgil who runs the hardware store, Nathan’s sweetheart Raine, Father Hughes who was rebuilding the Spanish mission nearby, Chanu and his father, Emilo down in Mexico … the only person he has no intention of complimenting is Mrs. Standish. That woman is a menace, and still chasing him for the supposed damages to her Presidential Suite. Vin has no intention of paying her a penny when Eli Joe tried to use the vantage point of the room to kill him.

Abruptly, he realizes the asker is sneaking away, and he shrugs. Apparently, the stranger was expecting a grudging response from Vin… not a man eager and willing to talk about the finer points of all his many friends.

[andrea-lyn]

The Recs (Less Travelled)

I’m excited to bring you the first installment of my ‘roads less travelled’ recs! I will be doing another round of this, probably once the Ted Lasso fic tag hits about 25 pages, and then I’ll also grab a couple more fandoms to collect in there! 

The Rules:

Each fandom/pairing was sorted on Archive of Our Own by completed works. Anything recced here was not in the first ten pages when sorted by kudos at the time of reccing. There may be some more well-known authors on this list, but the specific fics I’ve picked are ones that didn’t crack that top ten or just didn’t get much traction and I think deserve it, so hopefully I have also balanced it out with other under the radar (and still great!) works. As ever, I have a pinned post of my other recs (none have been duplicated from there), so you can also check those out! Under the cut you’ll find 10 recs in each fandom for:

Raven Cycle

Roswell New Mexico

The Old Guard

Inception

Star Trek (mainly Kirk/McCoy)

The Raven Cycle

savor all the little pieces by littlelionvanz

“Since when do you garden?”

Ronan snorted, “Since I grew up on a fucking farm, genius. Jesus who gave you permission to pursue higher education.”

the old grip of the familiar by littleseal

"There is a single black feather and a printed out picture of Gansey, Blue and Cheng standing in front of some fucking monument Ronan didn’t care enough to remember the name of. Gansey sent it to Ronan’s phone some time ago, but it sat in his messages until Adam picked it up and grinned at it so hard that, one afternoon later, Ronan cursed and kicked and glared his old printer back to life in order to print it out.

Fuck, he thinks, I’m in love with a hoarder."

Adam collects things. Ronan is in love with him.

No Sweeter Innocence Than Our Gentle Sin by gansey_is_our_king

Ronan Lynch has wanted to kiss Adam Parrish for a long time.

(alternately titled: four times that Ronan could have kissed Adam)

Cheers to Another Seven Years! by skyermirth

Adam left Henrietta for Harvard and never returned. Now, seven years has passed, and an unexpected work assignment has brought him back to a place and people he hardly recognizes.

Row, row, row your boat by emmerrr

“What. Why are you smiling at me,” he says suspiciously.

Adam shrugs. “You’re cute.”

“I’m not cute, I’m terrifying.”

“Terrifyingly cute,” Adam says.

and now the world is ours to take / and every single move is ours to make by thatlittleblackcat

"Adam was the scientist, Ronan was the data, and Orphan Girl was the key that explained the strange outliers that Ronan presented, his previously unexplainable actions."

//

Adam sorts out his feelings, Ronan helps him, Gansey is the number one dad friend, Blue is the number one mom friend and Henry tries to make Ronan smile. Otherwise known as the story of how Orphan Girl became Opal.

All These Things You Make Me Feel by SilverOpals394

It was late. Adam could feel the long day catching up to him as he left Boyd’s, all his energy exhausted. When he started his car, the tape deck whirred to life once more. He sighed and raised his hand to turn it off, but before he did a soft melody began to play.

AU in which the mixtape Ronan made for Adam only plays the murder squash song until Adam realizes he's in love with Ronan, too.

Ways to Communicate by Jalules

Blue Sargent reflects on an early memory (and gets busy with her boyfriends.)

(The two things are related, trust me.)

Hold Me Closer, I'm Safe in Your Arms by actuallyronanlynch

“You wanna tell me why I had to hear from Henry Cheng that my boyfriend was at the hospital?” Adam hissed, though his voice wasn’t as acidic as it could’ve been. Ronan took small victories where he could.

“You don’t have a cellphone,” Ronan pointed out flatly. “It’s not like I could’ve gotten a hold of you.”

arts and crafts and the inevitability of death by sunshineinthestorm

Adam comes to the public library in search of a study spot, not a boyfriend. 

But it must be his lucky day—because he ends up with a bit of both.

 Roswell New Mexico

a conversation between insignificant others by Bellakitse

“Hey…have you noticed that our boyfriends are madly in love with each other?"

“You noticed that too, huh,” she answers dryly, letting out a huff of reluctant amusement.

***

Forrest and Maria share a drink and a conversation and start a friendship.

Own Personal Hell by BeStillMySlashyHeart

Now that Isobel's getting the hang of her telekinesis, Michael decides to test out his telepathic abilities. It backfires. Badly. Now Michael's trapped inside his own mind and only one person can break him out.

Drop the Hammer by brightloveee

Max makes a new friend at the shooting range, who turns out to be even more bad-ass than he expected.

(Takes place mid-S1)

Boys Like You by forgadgetsandgizmos

Curly, dirty blond hair (the mere description ‘curly’ felt like an injustice) twisted in every direction off his head, a sharp contrast with the scruff darkening his strong jawline and scowl-ridden face.

Alex made a mental note to compliment Maria on her excellent taste in men.

—

Or, Alex has coffee with Maria's one-night stand, a man who he definitely does not have a crush on.

let's exchange the experience by lostin_space

Michael decides they need to quarantine.

OR

Michael floods Alex with love and care over and over and over.

This Is Hardcore by Anonymous

Michael makes a proposal. Alex accepts. Michael wonders what the hell he’s gotten himself into.

i don't know what to think (but i think of supernovas) by Milzilla

michael discovers that the console can talk. then, he discovers it can do far more than that.

iridescence on skin by Lire_Casander

In a world where (almost) everyone has a tattoo on their right wrist with one set of coordinates that point to the place where their soulmate is born, Alex thought he wouldn't be any different. He couldn't be more mistaken.

He has two.

The Real Thing by elliebird

Max checks on Michael the morning after Michael saves Max’s ass from Wyatt Long and his dumbass buddies. He sees more than he’s supposed to.

Written for a Tumblr anon who one of their friends walking in on them or anyone of them finding out about Michael and Alex in an interesting way 

Sundering by romancandles 

“You know it was just an Air Force balloon, right?” says Alex.

Michael smirks. “That’s what they want you to think,” he says, with a wink.

The Old Guard

Peer Reviewed by ishandahalf

[From:] Journal of Medieval Studies (jms.eds@jms.com)

[Subject:] Ad-hoc note from the editor

I have noticed an uncommon level of animosity in your responses to your reviewers (or rather, one reviewer in particular). I am writing to ask if you would please do your best to keep your interactions civil. In fairness, I have also sent a similar request to the reviewer you seem to have this friction with. I trust you will both try and remain more professional in the future.

Again, thank you for submitting your work to this journal.

Sincerely,

James Copley, PhD

Editor-in-Chief

Journal of Medieval Studies

An (accidental) academic epistolary romance as (inadvertently) documented via a (theoretically) rigorously blinded peer review process.[citation needed]

third for a word and the song keeps going Macremae

It was honestly shaping up to be a pretty uneventful year before the Vatican got on Nicky’s bad side.

Or: three times in 2008 that the team genuinely thought about killing Nicky if only to get him to shut up about the changes to the Catholic English Mass and his unrelenting opinions on them, and one time Nile did.

Apex Predators In Island Ecosystems (Freeman et al., in press) by Sixthlight

Palaeobotany PhD student Nile Freeman and her supervisor Joe al-Kaysani are invited to billionaire Stephen Merrick’s new project – a theme park full of cloned dinosaurs. What could possibly go wrong?

This Rough Magic by Marivan

When Joe came to Scotland to study the sea, he did not expect to also encounter a beautiful man claiming that A. he’s a selkie and B. they’re married because Joe picked up his scarf.

It sounds like a fairy tale and that’s a problem. Because Joe’s a scientist. And selkies don’t exist.

Wars for the broken by Yuliares

Five years into his exile, Booker is joined by a companion he never expected to meet. Together, they try to work on healing.

Sometimes they go down to the sewers just so she can scream and scream. “I like to hear it echo,” she explains. “Underwater, you can’t hear anything. Here, at least I can be heard.”

“I don’t feel like a warrior anymore,” she tells him, throwing bread crumbs at pigeons. “I feel broken.”

“You’re still a warrior,” he says roughly. “This is still fighting.”

a good (eighth) impression by deanniker

Over the next few months, Joe runs into Nicky every so often at the farmer’s market. Some weekends Nicky doesn’t make it, because of his work schedule - Joe doesn’t understand it because he doesn’t ask, though he does start to recognize when one of those missing weekends is coming up because Nicky will stock up on things with longer shelf-life. When they do run into each other, they make small talk and move through the stalls together.

Joe doesn’t mention it to Lykon when he stops by, because it is kind of weird, that Lykon’s ex-boyfriend texts Joe things like - If you’re here, the apples look particularly good this week and thank you for that recipe, I did not know what I was going to do with that much couscous

Or,

Joe wouldn't usually consider starting anything with his best friend's ex, but as long as they keep it casual, it shouldn't be weird... right?

get back to where you once belonged by tenderjock

Nile takes a sip of her cappuccino and closes her eyes.

(Booker and Nile get that coffee. Life happens, along the way.)

a house; a home by mehm

“Is this a kidnapping?” Joe asks as Nicky checks both their seat belts. “Like, I don’t mind. It’s just not quite what I expected for my birthday.”

In which Joe gets a birthday surprise, because that’s the stuff you have time for when you and the love of your life become mortal at the same time.

the ties that bind by damaskrose

“There’s a story I heard many times,” Andy begins, “in the Mediterranean. Threads of fate and three sisters. One to spin, one to measure, and one to cut.”

Clutter And Croutons by flawedamythyst

Joe and Nicky have an argument, and then Nicky talks to Nile about what it really means to be in a relationship for 900 years.

Inception

My Big Fat Slightly Annoying Wedding by jibrailis

Arthur and Eames elope for ~tax reasons. Certain people in their lives are not happy at the lack of a wedding.

Remember Sydney by pathera

When Eames shambles into the safe house outside of London, he finds a red light blinking on the phone.

For the inception_kink prompt:

Arthur is on a plane which is about to crash. No way anyone is going to survive. Instead of panicking he calmly calls the team's office and gets the answering machine. He hangs up before the plane crashes.

Give me Arthur's last message to the team.

 (TW: Character Death / Angst)

Of Such Deceitfulness and Suavity by delires

In which emotions manifest themselves in unusual ways.

YO, K2tog (it's like a code) by lazulisong

“Oh my God,” moans Arthur. “I’ve paid less for Somnacin. Good Somnacin.” A horrible thought strikes him. “How much is the yarn --”

“I want you to have an unguarded reaction,” Eames tells him, and pulls him up from the floor.

(They run an extraction on a knitter.)

hit the ground running by orphan_account

"I travelled halfway around the world for you. I dealt with the French for you."

Valley by wldnst

It's an old story: a knight, a prince, a kingdom in peril.

If This Is Rain Let It Fall On Me and Drown Me by Brangwen

We used to be so brave, Eames thought. Of the two of them, Arthur had always been the more fearless.

a gentle familiarity by jollypuppet

Two weeks later, Eames is on his doorstep with bad Italian takeout and a grin, and Arthur tells him he can sleep on the couch.

Your Crisis Cannot Be Completed As Dialed by sevenimpossiblethings

Arthur doesn't do snow, Ariadne is determined to be as Midwestern as possible, and blizzards make cell phone service unreliable.

Let’s Say I Do (I Do) by xsilverdreamsx

There were, perhaps some things worse that this, Arthur thinks, as he glares at the letter in his hand with his name printed clearly in bold ink, indicating his presence in two weeks for his esteemed marriage to one William H. Eames, III, at St. Catherine's Church in London, England.

Star Trek (predominantly Kirk/McCoy)

Show the World That Something Good Can Work by knune

Leonard McCoy is a doctor, not a personal assistant, and maybe that's why he can't stand working for Jim Kirk.

It's in the little things by winterover

Bones is bemused by a persistent secret admirer.

"Wedding" Away with It by pendrogon

One morning, Bones wakes up and he's single. By the same afternoon, he's married to Jim Kirk for Arbitrary Fic Reasons(TM).

How Long Will You Stay (For Your Whole Life) by withthepilot

Jim Kirk, deputy director of the Enterprise parks and recreation department, sees all of his hard work fall to pieces when budget specialist Leonard McCoy arrives from the state capital to cut Jim's budget and threaten the livelihoods of his colleagues. But thanks to a major parks project, Leonard finds a place in the department, as well as in Jim's life—and when all is said and done, Jim doesn't want him to leave.

All-Time Favorite by mardia

What to do when your best friend suddenly starts making new friends. 

Joy Ride by Cards_Slash

While running for their lives from an alien species Kirk had accidentally enraged, they come across a car. And well, if you were to come across a car while being chased by aliens that wanted you dead, and you possessed some lingering knowledge of how to drive a car similar to said car, you would have decided to drive it toward the nearest cliff too.

Also a gunfight.

Syncytia by epistolic

He’d signed up for Starfleet on an impulse, but Starfleet meant James Tiberius Kirk: the first – and second, and third, and fourth – big mistake of Leonard McCoy’s life.

Renovation by canistakahari

Jim has a whammy put on him by an alien death ray and he suddenly craves domesticity. He's crazy with longing to shop at space!Ikea and get potted bamboo and he starts looking into adopting AND HE HATES HIMSELF AND CANNOT CONTROL THE SHIT. Luckily, McCoy is drunk all the time and plays house.

17:08 by butterflycell

She'd watched the news holos with a sick feeling, searching for information that was completely obvious in its absence. Amidst the reports of the the Enterprise's miraculous recovery and the damages sustained, there had been next to nothing about the crew or her captain. Jim had been mentioned only in passing, his name shied away from as his first officer limited interaction to the bare essentials.

The Honey of Hybla by shrift

"Bones, prepare to be my date."

[desdealgunlugardelsur]

Harrison Ford: 2020 summary

A year like no other, as you must have heard countless times. The pandemic changed almost everybody´s life on this planet and Harrison wasn´t an exception. Our lil´ bean is strong and healthy but also has to be safe at home, so this year didn´t deliver many news about Harrison. Still, we had a new Harrison movie, The Call of the Wild, released in February, and a few other events before the lockdown. 2020 was also marked by the death of 3 former Harrison´s costars: Chadwick Boseman, Sean Connery and David Prowse. May all of them rest on peace on Heaven.

A new year begins, and we all wish Harrison (and everyone by the way) a productive, happy and healthy 2021. Stay safe!

JANUARY

Early January:  Harrison Ford enjoying his holidays in the caribbean island of Bonaire

25th: Harrison Ford with singer Carole Bayer Sager in a dinner in support of US Democratic candidate Michael Bloomberg

28th: The Call of the Wild “Adventure Companions” Featurette.  Harrison Ford talks about dogs and companionship in The Call of the Wild’s “Adventure Companions” featurette.

28th: not sure where these pics were taken. Probably in Wyoming?  (pics from Rich Elali)

FEBRUARY

3rd: Verizon Super Bowl Ad Features Harrison Ford And New Pearl Jam Song

Kathleen Kennedy Says Harrison Ford Is Still On For ‘Indiana Jones 5’

Early-mid February: the national and international promotion  of The Call of the Wild  begins

5th: In Mexico City:

Harrison Ford: America Has Lost Its Moral Leadership And Credibility:  The “Star Wars” and “Indiana Jones” star calls out U.S. policy on immigration and climate.

11th: On the Jimmy Kimmel Show:

More here 

13th: Harrison Ford, actor and watch designer.  Newly adapted from Jack London’s literary classic, “The Call of the Wild” transports us to the snowy expanses of Alaska in the 1890s, with Harrison Ford as prospector John Thornton. The actor talks about climate activism, technology and why mechanical watches beat smartwatches every time.

14th: Indiana Jones 5 Starts Shooting In Two Months Says Harrison Ford :  The long delayed fifth Indiana Jones film is finally about to get underway, as Harrison Ford reveals that he will begin shooting in two months. (that was what they were planning before COVID-19 hit the world...)

14th: Harrison Ford: Indiana Jones 5 Will “See Part of His History Resolved”

17th: “A Force ghost? I don’t know what a Force ghost is…I have no idea what a Force ghost is. And I don’t care!“. Legend.

21st: The Call of the Wild is released in cinemas

At the movie premiere in Los Angeles:

BRING ON THE PUPPIES:

More videos:

Call of the Wild Survival Tips!

SNACK??? (Kudos to that girl)

Find epic stories at your library! 

More news:

Of Course Harrison Ford Did His Own Call Of The Wild Stunts And 'Wore Out' The Stunt Team

Harrison Ford's shirtless chest is that buff (at 77) for his 'Call of the Wild' swim scene

26th: Steven Spielberg Won’t Direct ‘Indiana Jones 5,’ James Mangold in Talks to Replace  

27th: Harrison Ford Breaks Down His Career, from 'Star Wars' to 'Indiana Jones'  (Vanity Fair)

Late February: Harrison Ford visits Google��s offices in San Francisco to test the company´s self-driving car. [x] [x] [x] [x]

MARCH

14th:  Harrison spotted in South Hadley, Massachusetts [x].  Apparently Harrison and Calista went to Massachusetts to pick up their son Liam after college shut down due to the coronavirus pandemic.

MARCH

MARCH

MARCH

MARCH

...

APRIL

3rd: Disney delay multiple release dates including Jungle Cruise, The French Dispatch, and Indiana Jones 5  

(…) Another big reveal is that Indiana Jones 5 – which will reportedly be directed by James Mangold – is being pushed back a year, from July 9, 2021 to July 29, 2022.

29th: Harrison Ford under FAA investigation after making a mistake while operating an airplane on the runway

According to the audio obtained by TMZ, Ford, 77, did not follow the direction of a tower operator to “keep short” on the runway because of “traffic”. It seems that the actor did not hear the direction. He nevertheless started to cross the runway, which prompted the operator to reprimand him for not following his instructions.

“Cross this trail now!” I told you to keep it short! You have to listen, “said the operator.

“Excuse me, sir, I thought exactly the opposite. I’m really sorry, ”said Ford immediately.

TMZ said there was no risk of an accident. The other aircraft was allegedly 3600 feet from Ford’s aircraft.

MAY

6th: Lucasfilm Reportedly Wants Harrison Ford To Return For Han And Chewie Star Wars Spinoff (Note: this hasn´t been officially confirmed by Lucasfilm)

15th: No news but I think this is cute: 

From twitter.com/siikasele

21st: The Empire Strikes Back 40th anniversary. 40 years ago, TESB was released on theaters the 21st of May of 1980.

27th: James Mangold Confirmed To Direct Indiana Jones 5.  Producer Frank Marshall confirms James Mangold is directing Indiana Jones 5 and says he's only just begun to work on his own script for the movie.

28th: James Mangold plans to take Indiana Jones franchise 'someplace new'. 

Indiana Jones Writer on How Pandemic Will Affect Film's Script

JUNE

Nothing happens but look at this

You are welcome.

JULY

13th: Happy birthday king!

AUGUST

23rd:  Harrison Ford dropping off his son Liam at College with wife Calista Flockhart via private plane (from tinyrebelstuff)

28th: Chadwick Boseman dies of cancer at the age of 43

Harrison Ford Calls Chadwick Boseman "As Much a Hero as Any He Played" 

“Chadwick Boseman was as compelling, powerful and truthful as the characters he chose to play,” Ford said in a statement to The Hollywood Reporter. “His intelligence, personal dignity and deep commitment inspired his colleagues and elevated the stories he told. He is as much a hero as any he played. He is loved and will be deeply missed.”

SEPTEMBER

24th: Harrison Ford Cleared by FAA in Runway Investigation. "The FAA has closed the case involving the pilot who crossed a Hawthorne Municipal Airport runway without authorization on April 24, 2020. The FAA required the pilot to take a remedial runway incursion training course. When the pilot successfully completed the course, the FAA closed the case with no additional action," the FAA said in a statement to The Hollywood Reporter.

OCTOBER

19th: Harrison Ford & Ed Helms To Star In STX Seafaring Comedy ‘Adventures Of Burt Squire’ 

22nd: Actor and Pilot Harrison Ford Becomes Airlink Spokesperson. Video here

31st: Sean Connery dies at 90.

Sean Connery: Harrison Ford pays tribute to his Indiana Jones father and 'dear friend'

"He was my father... not in life... but in Indy 3," he said.

"You don't know pleasure until someone pays you to take Sean Connery for a ride in the sidecar of a Russian motorcycle bouncing along a bumpy, twisty mountain trail and getting to watch him squirm.

"God, we had fun - if he's in heaven, I hope they have golf courses.

"Rest in peace, dear friend."

NOVEMBER

2nd: Harrison Ford And Lincoln Project Back Anthony Fauci, Advocate Firing Donald Trump  

In the waning hours of the 2020 presidential election, the Lincoln Project has enlisted Harrison Ford to narrate a new ad that plays up President Donald Trump’s suggestion that he will fire Dr. Anthony Fauci.

The spot features a scene from a Trump rally on Sunday in which supporters began chanting “Fire Fauci! Fire Fauci!” and the president responded, “Don’t tell anybody, but let me wait til a little bit after the election.”

Ford then says, “Tomorrow, you can fire only one of them. The choice is yours.”

3rd: Harrison Ford and Bloomberg on Biden 2020

7th: Destiel becomes canon. Harrison doesn´t give a single fuck.

Also Joe Biden wins the US elections. Trump is defeated. Harrison, we know you hate Donald Trump. Congratulations.

21st: Harrison Ford back in Boston, Massachusetts, to pick up his son Liam for Thanksgiving Day.

28th: David Prowse, who played Darth Vader in the original trilogy, dies at the age of 85. Sorry, I didn´t find any words from Harrison on his memory... it seems they weren´t so close. Also, Jeremy Bulloch, the original Boba Fett, dies at 75 the 17th of december.

DECEMBER

10th: Indiana Jones: James Mangold, Harrison Ford Team to Close Out the Character  

Harrison Ford and James Mangold's Indiana Jones 5 will serve as the final chapter for the iconic character.

Disney changed the Indiana Jones logotype. I have a bad feeling about this.

15th: Rare, behind-the-scenes look at 'The Empire Strikes Back'

Including this jewel:

Gif from the @theorganasolo​

31st: And just at the very last day of this weird and strange year...

Disney Reportedly Wants Harrison Ford For Indiana Jones Streaming Show 

Thankfully, then, it seems that the fifth (Indiana Jones) outing may not be the last we see of the actor in the role, as insider Daniel Richtman claims that Disney wants Ford to appear in a series that’s being developed for their streaming service. Further details are unclear and the tipster doesn’t say if it’s an all-new show or a reboot of The Young Indiana Jones Chronicles, but as one of the Mouse House’s most valuable assets, it wouldn’t be a surprise if they wanted to continue mining the property once Indiana Jones 5 wraps up the big screen stories for good. 

Thanks everyone! Hopefully in 2021 the pandemic will fade and the world will return to normalcy. Luckily the production of Indiana Jones V will start this spring, as well as other Harrison projects such the tv show The Staircase and the movie starring with Ed Elms. Fingers crossed for a year full of (good) news about Harrison. Have a happy and safe 2021.

[bazypitchandsimonsnow]

Mages Don’t Meddle

Rating: M

Genre: Angst/Mild Fluff

Word count: 16091

Summary: In a world where magic users must fear each other, Baz Pitch, a British born hex hiding in the 19th century American southwest, is just trying to stay alive. But when he meets a fellow British hex, his world is turned upside down in the most awful, amazing ways possible. PLEASE READ FIRST AUTHOR'S NOTE!!!!

Read on AO3

AN: Alright some of you may know that my favourite book series of all time is The Hexslinger Series by Gemma Files. It’s a gory but brilliant horror/dark fantasy weird western trilogy about gay cowboy wizards fighting Aztec gods. (It's also where my AO3 username comes from). I've been writing this AU on and off for like two years now lol. So when I saw this event, I saw it as motivation to finally finish it. And I did! Idk how many people are gonna like this, considering the obscurity of the books. The mythos is a bit complicated so here are the basic rules of the Hexslinger world:

1. Magic users exist, called "hexes" or "hexslingers” by most English speakers. They’re commonly known of and feared by some humans because of their immense, usually unstable power. Their magic is usually called "hexation" and a common descriptor for anything to do with them is "hexacious." Being a hex can either be passed down from parent to child or appears randomly. Most are children of a hex man and a human woman as pregnancy for a hex woman can be very risky to mother and child, but it's still possible.

2. Hexes aren’t usually born having magic. Their powers manifest at some point later in their lives except in very rare circumstances. For women it usually appears after their first period, while for men it’s usually after some sort of grievous bodily harm, e.g getting hanged or beaten. Before manifestation, some hexes show no sign of magic at all, while others have hints like perfect aim or weirdly good luck. It depends on the person and their power level.

3. Hex magic varies between people based on personality, culture, family history, and power level/type. For example, an experienced Chinese born hex with refined power will have a very different kind of magic than a newly manifested American born hex with more chaotic power. (That’s literally just from the original books lol.) Even hexes similar in multiple aspects can be completely different in the way their magic is expressed.

4. The only universal trait between hexes is that they all have the urge to feed off each other’s magic. They’re like magic vampires (wink wink). If they get too close to each other, they have the immediate urge to absorb the other's power and kill them. It’s completely instinctual and very hard to resist. Hence why hexes can’t be around each other. Or, to use the common phrase from the universe, “mages don’t meddle.”Okay that's the basics. There's A LOT of other stuff but I think that's all you need to know for this fic imo.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: So there's some period typical racism scattered around due Baz being brown in the 19th century American south. It's not too harsh imo but I still want to warn people. I hope I handled it alright, considering I'm a white af Canadian Irish-Jew, but if I didn't I'm very sorry. There's also a bit of period typical homophobia at the start. The closest I get to slurs is the use of "red" and "Indian" in reference to Indigenous people, "queer" in a negative context, references to sand because Baz says he's Egyptian, and Baz being called "darker folk." I felt it would be disingenuous to not include bigotry of the past and pretend things would be all okay for a queer POC like Baz. Especially since Hexslinger itself has major themes of homophobia, racism, and not being accepted in the majority of society. A few mentions of suicide, self harm, and torture too in relation to hex powers emerging too, which is also major in Hexslinger. The series itself is pretty brutal and dirty with lots of bigotry, blood, guts, and death. So those elements have gotten in here. There is some flesh burning stuff but I don't think it's that graphic, feels pretty typical for Carry On imo. Hopefully this all works well/makes sense.

As always, big thanks to Raegan of @carryonmylovelies Now with that all out of the way, enjoy!

———————————————

I gingerly take a sip of my whiskey. It's a horrible rotgut shite, but there’s worse stuff out in the wild west. This Slipfoot Joe’s seems to be okay by my now very, very low standards for this area.

“Well well, if it ain’t a pretty red boy,” the man behind me croons. His voice makes evey inch of my skin crawl.

I let out a deep sigh. I’ve been expecting this, but I’m still not pleased. “Piss off, arsehole.”

“Oh! Didn’t know Indians could sound English!”

“I’m British Egyptian, you twit.”

The man leans on the bar, smiling wide. It’s easier to count the few teeth he has than guess how many he’s lost. “What brings your sandy ass to our great country?”

The Call. The unending Call that signals all of us to come here.

I take another long sip. “Your gorgeous face, obviously. How much do you charge? I’ve heard American men are cheaper here than in England.”

The man reels back scowling. “You think I’m some queer?!”

“Well, I assumed so. Considering you were just flirting with me, a man.”

He snarls, whipping out his pathetic little pistol. The barrel shakes nonstop. “You got some nerve, boy!”

I finish the whiskey and delicately place the glass rim first on the filthy bar. “And you’re a racist bastard. You don’t see me getting all pissy.”

The gunshot happens in slow motion for me. I don’t even need to turn. I simply hold one hand in front of me and let my magic pour from me like a dragon’s breath. It curls out in front of me, a circle of blacks and charcoal greys and burning scarlets. Every hex’s magic is different. Mine is like a constant roaring fire, always threatening to consume me.

The bullet hits the shield with a tinny clink. Racist Man is frozen with wide, terrified eyes. I turn to him, orange and red reflecting in my grey eyes.

“You- You’re... a hex?!” He splutters.

“Thought that was pretty bloody obvious. Now go, before I drink your blood.”

Racist Man and his buddy scamper out of the tavern. I let the force field dissipate, crackling and popping in the air like a dying campfire. Joe, the bartender and eponymous Slipfoot, sighs as he cleans another glass.

“You know,” Joe says, “I’ve met other hexes. They’re stupid reckless assholes but they ain’t ever drank blood. Just suck each other’s magic.”

I chuckle. “Well they don’t know that, do they?”

“No, lucky for you. What’s a Brit like you even doin’ here anyway?”

My mouth presses into a thin line. I envy him. He can't hear The Call from that damned Hex City. I heard it all the way in Washington, and before I knew it I was on a train southeast. The only reason I haven’t actually gone to the horrid place is sheer stubbornness.

“I’m a hex. Where else would I be going?”

Joe freezes. He stares at me with more concern than fear. “I’d be careful, son. Those hexes I met? One of them was Reverend Rook himself. He’s beyond bad news, ‘specially with that heathen goddess by his side.”

“I know.” I trace my finger on the old wood, trying to focus on that instead of the ringing in my head. “But what choice do I have?”

———————————————

1867, two years after America’s bloody civil war, and it seems they’re about to be plunged into a new one. Except it won’t be slavery versus abolition this time, but humans versus magic. 

The news has spread like wildfire. In the final days of the war, a confederate soldier and unofficial chaplain named “Reverend” Asher Rook was sentenced to hang for abandoning his regiment. But he survived, and the suffering of the ordeal caused his hex powers to emerge. Rumour has it one Bible verse from his lips can level an entire town. Rook decided to use his new powers to steal and murder his way through the west, aided by his ruthless gunslinging lieutenant (and rumoured lover) Chess Pargeter.

He should’ve been just another hex outlaw for those American Pinkertons to take down. But somehow, a mere month ago, Rook made a pact with an Aztec goddess. And together they’ve created New Azteclan, or Hex City to the common man. According to the magical homing signal I hear, that every hex hears, it’s a place where hexes can lose their insatiable urge to feed off each other’s magic. We’ll no longer have to be loners by nature, picked off one by one by humanity. We could be together. We could be safe.

But at what cost? Nothing in life comes without a cost. I know that too well. My magic cost me my home, my family, and a good part of my sanity. I’d do anything to not be a danger to others anymore. And the possibility is right there. All I need to do is go further south and cross the border into Mexico to reach Hex City. But once I do that, there’s no going back. The temptation of the Call will be too strong. And whatever price The Reverend wants, he’ll get it from me.

I sit at the fire, chewing on some absolutely horrific jerky. I’m trying to focus on the flames instead of the voice in my head. I’m not sure whose it is. Maybe Rook’s, maybe his witch goddess’. It doesn’t have a discernible tone, just sort of an indistinct everyman sound, or a thousand voices speaking the same thing. Either way, it’s very annoying.

Come, it whispers. Come seek out Ixchel, the Mother of Hanged Men. Come stand before Her priest-king, to offer up your service. Come to build the First City of the Sixth World- the world of wonder, the world of power. Come, and join New Azteclan.

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” I shout into emptiness, slamming the side of my head with my fist.

“I haven’t said anything yet,” someone replies weakly.

I bolt up. My magic roars to life inside me, a fireball forming in the palm of my hand. “Who said that?!”

The man slowly steps out of the darkness. He must be no older than myself, with his young, round freckled face. He has curly bronze hair, capped by an old second hand cowboy hat. His brown leather coat, plaid shirt, riding boots, and jeans are all filthy with desert dirt. A horse with saddle bags stands behind him. His blue eyes are wide and nervous. I notice a smell on him. Like green fire and smoke, with a strong scent of something brown and sweet. He smells like something I would gladly eat.

He’s a hex.

“Don’t you dare come any closer, you prick,” I say between gritted teeth. “I won’t hesitate to burn you to a crisp.”

The other boy shakes his head. “I’m not here to drain you. I...I just wanted to ask for some help.” He sounds British like me, but more rough and nervous, stumbling over his words.

“Yeah, right. Do I look that gullible? ‘Mages don’t meddle.’ We’d all drain each other dry if we were given the chance.”

He sighs heavily. “Well, of course I want to by instinct, but I’m not going to. I was just wondering if you had any food. All of mine got stolen by some angry humans.”

I consider just turning him away, or draining his magic and leaving his dried out corpse for the vultures. But he looks so desperate. How long has this young man been out here alone? My aunt had always warned me to be wary of all other hexes. We’re a bloodthirsty species, Basil. Never trust another hex, ever. Not even me. But I’m not my aunt.

I sit down again. “Fine. You can have some jerky. Just don’t come too close alright? I’d like to keep my magic and soul where they are, please.”

The man smiles (he has a nice smile) and sits opposite me at the fire. I throw a bag of jerky, and he catches in one hand. He shoves it in his mouth like a ravenous animal.

“So,” I say, “what’s your name?”

“Simon Snow,” he rep;ies, mouth still half full. “Your’s?”

“Baz Pitch.” Simon chuckles a bit, and I frown. “What’s so funny?

“Well, Baz Pitch is a pretty ridiculous name.”

“No more ridiculous than Simon Snow,” I snap. “What, were you named by circus performers?”

“Maybe. Not sure, actually.” Snow looks at the fire, but it feels like he’s looking right through it, his gaze very far away.

“Why’s that?”

Simon shakes his head. “Hey, are you going to Hex City?”

I huff, blowing some loose, dirty hair out of my eyes. I’m too tired to stop him from changing the subject. “I don’t know. Are you?

He shrugs. “Maybe. So far I am. The stories and Call do make it sound so wonderful.”

I scoff loudly. “Of course they do. Rook wants people to come. Then we’ll get there and be sacrificed to his bloodthirsty goddess. That’s probably what happened to Pargeter. No one’s heard from him lately, according to the locals.”

“But we’ll lose the hunger! What if the Reverend just wants us to be safe? Y’know, as a kindness to his own people.”

“No one does anything out of kindness, Snow. Least of all hexes.”

“You gave me food out of kindness, didn’t you?”

I glare at him over the flames. He shrugs with a faint smile. Fuck. He has a really nice smile.

 “I’m going to sleep,” I mutter. “But I’m putting a shield around me. Touch it and you’ll be burned alive. So don’t get any ideas about taking my magic.”

Simon throws his hands up in innocence. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

I lay down on my pallet, throwing up my force field. The crackle and hiss of magic around me distracts from the beautiful mage no more than seven feet from me. Whom I’m not sure I want to kiss or kill. Maybe both.

———————————————

I wake when the sun's centre in the sky. I’m breathing, so this Simon Snow hasn’t drained me dry. That’s good, I guess. 

I sit up bleary eyed. Snow is passed out on his own cot, drooling profusely with his mouth wide open (mouth breather). He’s put up his own shield, of course, (at least he’s somewhat sensible). It sort of looks like an electrical explosion, white bolts constantly combusting around him in bubble form. He smells so powerful. It’s taking all of my willpower to not hurt him. To not submit to my basic hex desires.

I take my sweet time to pack my things and douse the fire pit, secretly hoping Simon will wake up before I run out of excuses. Luckily, with a very loud snort, Snow bolts upwards. There’s terror in his eyes, and his breath is uneven and shallow. I know that look. I’m no stranger to nightmares myself.

“A good morning to you, Snow,” I say.

Simon lets out a long breath, waving a hand to dissolve his shield. “You didn’t kill me.”

“And you didn’t kill me. What a miracle.”

“I’ll say. Are you leaving?”

“Obviously.”

“Where to?”

I sigh heavily. “Well, my map says, there’s a town southeast from here. I haven’t been there before but it probably isn’t too bad. I was going to hide there for at least a bit.”

Simon picks at his nail beds, even though they’re already ragged and bloody. “Can I...can I come with you? I haven’t been around anyone in so long, y’know. It’d be nice to have someone to talk to”

I look at him with the most neutral gaze I can muster. “Are you going to kill me?”

He shrugs. “Haven’t killed you yet, have I?”

“There’s still time.”

Simon stands up, brushing the dust off his pants. “Alright, then I’ll make myself very clear. Baz, I’m not going to kill you. I’m not going to fight you at all, alright?”

I must admit that I’ve been lonely these few months in the desert. Hell, I’ve been lonely for the past few years. I’ve actually missed the company of others. But it’s not like humans or hexes want to be around me. Except for this one, it seems. Maybe this wouldn’t be too bad. If we don’t kill each other first that is.

“Alright, fine. Just don’t try anything or I’ll burn you from the inside out.”

Simon keeps smiling. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

We mount our horses and ride off. I try to keep my eyes ahead instead of on Snow.

———————————————

“I can’t believe the food here,” Snow says. “It’s so much more spicy than in the North.”

“We are closer to Mexico, Snow,” I reply. I’m trying to figure out our route, while also listening to Snow when he’s more than six feet away. The hunger is manageable from this distance. Mostly.

“Well, yeah, but it’s so insane! Why can’t the north people get some spice from here? It would make their chicken more tolerable. London street food was awful but at least it had some flavour!”

That makes me snort out a laugh no matter how much I try not to. Snow grins at me, and his face is literal sunshine. Why must he be so perfect? It’s not fair. “London street food? You mean fish and chips? Those aren’t half bad, if I’m remembering correctly.”

Snow’s tawny face gets a little pink. He rubs the back of his slightly sunburnt neck. “Y-Yeah, they weren’t too bad. Just...other stuff was terrible...”

“Like what?” It’s not late at night now. I’m less inclined to let his dodging go. Call me crazy, but I’d like to know about the man I’m travelling with.

“Um...” He looks down at his horse’s neck. “I-I lived on the London streets, literally, until I was old enough to work for room and board. Finding anyone who would house a hex though, that was a challenge.”

His laugh is tinny and hollow. My heart, or what dark horrible mass we hexes have in place of one, twists at the words. I wish I was surprised. His story is all too familiar.

“You don’t need to be ashamed,” I say firmly. “We all have our own rough pasts. It’s practically required for hexes, in my eyes.”

Snow doesn’t look up, but his (pretty) plain blue eyes flick over to me. “Really?”

I nod. “Yes, of course. Hexes are usually shunned and harmed. Finding one who hasn’t been in a dire situation is more rare.”

“Have you met a lot of hexes?”

“Some. Mostly, I’ve heard stories. Far too many are like your’s.”

“Is your’s?”

My grip on the reins is so tight my knuckles are going pale. Memories rush through my head no matter how much I want to stop them. The darkness, the pain, the fire, then the stench of burnt human flesh, all capped off by years of trying to survive on my own.

“Unfortunately, ye-”

“What the fuck?!”

Simon’s screech is ungodly in volume and tone. His horse lets out a similarly panicked bray. She bucks up, but can’t get very high with the red vines tangled around her legs.

“Oh fuck,” I hiss. I try to pull back my own horse, but his legs are similarly wrapped up. The vines circle up and around us. I kick and stamp them with all my might. The blood red flowers look like the gaping mouths of monsters.

“What the fuck are these things?!” Snow bellows. He tries to rear his horse back, but nearly throws himself backwards off his saddle instead. “Fucking shite!”

“Don’t do that, Snow, it won’t help!”

“Then what should I do?!” 

“Just stay still!”

Thankfully, Snow does as I say. Not thankfully, I’m not sure what to do. I know that human blood gets rid of the Weeds, but even if I count as human in this regard, you need a relatively large amount of it. So unless I want to pass out, I’ll need to think of something else. But what else can curb evil bloodthirsty Aztec plants?

“Baz!” Snow’s horse pancis the more the weeds wrap around her, which makes Snow panic in turn. He looks at me with desperate wide eyes. “Baz, do something!”

Oh, fuck it. I’ll solve this the way I solve my other problems.

I reach deep within myself, down to the flames that burn in what’s hopefully my soul, or at least what hexes have instead. I grab that power and let it out through my arm. Fire roars to life in the palm of my hand, and I unleash the full force of it on the Weeds. A tidal wave of blackened-red flames engulf the plants.

“Jesus Christ!” Simon shouts. The plants don’t burn per se, I’m not sure they even can. But they still shrink away from us. I keep pushing more magic out until they Weeds a good distance away. 

“Run,” I say, “now!”

Snow and I both wrench our horses 180 degrees and run like the wind. We ride fast and far with no destination, but we keep each other in sight. Only when my pulse is no longer hammering in my ears do I start to slow down. Snow follows, and eventually we stop near a large tree. All four of us are breathing hard.

“Bloody hell,” Snow says. “W-What the fuck were those?”

“Red Plague Weeds,” I reply, dismounting my horse. “They’ve been popping up all around here. No one knows where they come from, but we’re all pretty sure they have something to do with Rook and his witch goddess. Just like every other bizarre thing nowadays.”

“How come I haven’t seen them before in the towns?”

“Because the way to get rid of the Weeds permanently is blood, Snow.”

Snow’s eyes go wide with horror. “Blood? Any blood?”

I sadly shake my head. “No, only fresh human blood. I’ve heard a bowl full collected from the townsfolk is good enough. I don’t even know if hex blood counts. No one’s ever tried, as far as I know. We’re extremely lucky we got away.”

“So I gathered,” Snow sighs. “Now what? We’ve gone a good way backwards now, if I had to guess.”

“Agreed. We’ll have to try and move around the Weeds. If we’re lucky, the town will still be reachable.”

“No one has ever called hexes lucky.”

We both laugh a little. Sometimes laughter is the only way to deal with our horrible existences. I pull the waterskin out of my bag and take a deep, long drink. “Let’s stay here for a moment, though. That blast took a lot out of me.”

“Y-Yeah, that makes sense. Um, I’ll just...”

He turns his horse to the side, trotting away from me. My stomach drops out. Where’s he going? Am I going to be alone again? I’ve only been with Snow for one day. That’s nothing compared to the last two years I’ve been on my own. But now I can’t imagine going back to that crushing, never ending loneliness.

“Heading out, Snow?” I keep my tone neutral, holding back the desperate tremor that threatens to bleed out. “Suppose I’ll see you around, then.”

Snow whips his head around. If I were a more hopeful person, I’d say he looks even more panicked than when we were tangled in the Weeds. “W-What? No, I was just gonna go a little further away...”

“Do I smell that bad?” I probably do. Hygiene is not a priority in these parts.

“No! The opposite, actually...” Snow looks to the side, a little red on his face. “You used a lot of magic before. I can still smell some of it. I, uh, want to keep my promise...”

Oh. Right. I should count myself lucky that he didn’t drain me the minute we stopped. “Yes, yes, of course, makes perfect sense.”

“Unless...you want me to go...”

I gulp down the massive lump in my throat. “Do you want to go, Snow?”

Snow scratches his neck. He points his thumb to the side. “I’ll be waiting over there, until we’ve both cooled down. Alright?”

I would never admit how much relief that brings me. “Alright. We’ll set off again in an hour or so.”

“Okay.” Snow trots over to a good distance away. His brown, sweet smell still lingers in the air, but it fades just enough for me to rest properly. I sit back against the tree, drinking a good portion of my waterskin. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Snow doing the same. I try to not watch him. But it’s very, very hard.

———————————————

Nightfall hits before we reach the town. Snow can’t ride very fast, and I’m still more than a bit drained. So once again, I have to sit opposite the man who will most likely kill me soon.

He fidgets endlessly, picking at his nails and sleeve. It’s infuriating. He gnaws on the jerky like a crazed cat or something. I huff and shake my head. Snow looks up at me.

“What?” he says through a bite.

“Do you ever stop moving? We’ve been sitting here for over an hour and there hasn’t been a single moment of stillness from you.”

Snow snorts. “I don’t see how that affects you.”

“It’s annoying.”

He snorts again, but there’s a small smile now too. “Maybe this is the real reason hexes don’t interact. We're all arseholes.”

“That is hardly a hex thing, Snow. I’ve known humans and hexes alike that I can’t tolerate.”

“Am I one of them?

I hope my face doesn’t flush too hard. “You’re still here, aren’t you?”

He chuckles quietly and goes back to eating his jerky, with far less fidgeting this time thankfully. We sit in silence for a while. I keep sneaking looks at him, then tearing my gaze away every time. The firelight makes Snow’s tawny skin almost glow and his bronze hair sparkle gold. He’s a constellation of moles and freckles. He’s a gorgeous mess. Just looking at him, I can almost forget that we’re supposed to be enemies.

“What part of England are you from anyway?” Snow asks through a mouthful of dried out meat.

“Hampshire. Though if you asked the people here, they’d say I’m from Buckingham bloody Palace.”

Snow throws his head back laughing. It’s a ridiculous, wonderful sound. “Damn true! I’ve lived on the streets of London for the past ten years and an American asked me if I’m related to the bloody queen! They have no idea about accent differences. They think every Brit is royalty.”

I freeze. Snow’s laughs slowly subside. He must notice the utter panic in my eyes. “You lived on the streets of London for a decade? That long?”

He pulls in, curling his thin body in on itself. This Simon is a hex like me, a terrifying being filled with unimaginable power, yet right now, he looks so...small. “Well, not the whole time. It’s been on and off. I found some places to live for a bit but they never lasted. Thank God for magic. Or thank the Devil, if the humans are right about us.”

He chuckles nervously. I shift uncomfortably in my spot, trying to hide the way his laugh makes me face heat up even more. “I guess so. It’s taken care of me since-”

There’s a crack. It’s small, far off, almost indistinguishable from the regular sounds of the desert, but it’s there. My aunt always said I have the ears of a bat. I swing my head around.

“What is it?” Snow says.

“Hush! I think I heard something.”

Slowly, I stand up, crouched over with my fists clenched. My magic sizzles and sparks inside me, begging to be used. I see Snow stand too at the edge of my vision.

“Die hex scum!”

The man launches himself out of the darkness, jagged knife in hand. He knocks me flat down to the ground. All the breath is forced out of me as my back hits the sand.

“Fuck!” I wheeze.

I push at him with both arms, thankfully keeping my pretty face out of his slashing range. He writhes and struggles like a rabid wolf. His dirty crazed smile, missing most of his teeth, looms over me. I recognise him.

“You,” I growl. “Did you really follow me all the way here from Slipfoot’s, you pig?!”

“Die!” He says that like it means absolutely anything, like I haven’t heard it a hundred times before.

Racist Man has no technique. He just screeches and flails with his knife. Aunt Fiona’s words come to my mind immediately. “Every self respecting hex needs to know how to defend himself, Basil.” She said just before pinning me to the ground in one move. I hook my leg around his and flip him onto his back. He gasps and lets out a rattling cough. I hover over him, knee on his chest, pinning his knife hand to the ground.

“You don’t deserve to live, you sand demon.” He spits at me, splashing against my cheek. I flick it off with ease.

“Such an original opinion.” I feel the fire blazing in my gut, threatening to consume myself and everything around me. “I should scorch off all your skin.”

“Course you would. All you hexes, just filthy murderers. No wonder y’all are fleeing to Rook’s heathen paradise. Your kind don’t belong around civilized folks.”

I growl again. First he despises my skin colour, then he thinks he knows anything about hexation. This bastard, so stupid and ignorant. We’re only monsters because we have to be. Because men like him come at us with knives and guns and nooses. There’s no holding the fire back. My hand heats up around his wrist. He screeches as his skin sizzles under my fingers. He drops the knife, but I don't stop. All my rage pushes out through my hand and onto his increasingly scorched skin.

“Get off me!”

I turn to see Simon, struggling against another man. His fingers spark and sputter uselessly as he pounds against the guy with a hand around his throat.

“Better save your man over there,” Racist Man hisses.

I give him one last good death stare. I see him shiver just slightly. At least he has some good sense. “Run fast and far. If you come near us again, so help me God I’ll melt through your entire brain.”

The look of terror in his eyes is enough of an answer. I jump off him and run towards Snow.

“Oi! Off him, now!” I roar.

The other man turns to look at me. He has the same crazed look as his friend. “Or what, you piece of devil shit?!”

“Or this.”

I turn to the fire. With only one hand outstretched, my magic wraps around it, and pushes my power into the very core. The flames shoot nine feet upwards, illuminating the vast dark in blinding light. I turn back to the terrified human. With one swing of my arm, the pillar slams into him. He’s sent flying in a shower of flames and skids on the ground, tossing up a cloud of dustin his wake. I start to march towards him. But Snow throws up his arm to stop me.

“Let me,” he growls.

The tone of his voice stops me in my tracks. Simon stomps towards him, his entire hand now covered in tiny sparks like fireworks. His assaulter sits up, panting heavily.

“You better run now,” Snow says.

He sneers. “Don’t tell me-”

“GO!”

Snow’s magic explodes like a fucking bomb. It’s a bolt of violent and powerful energy that hits the assailant square in the chest. He flies back even farther. I stumble from the sheer force of it. The magic disperses as quickly as it appeared. Snow is panting, bronze curls still staticy with stray sparks. The human scrambles and runs away into the darkness.

We’re left there, breathing hard in the darkness, the embers of the now dead fire our only light. Simon tries to pull out the crackling electricity still clinging to his hair. It curls around his fingers and won’t dissipate no matter how much he shakes his hand out. Finally, I find my voice again.

“That was...”

“Awful?” Snow mumbles. “Yeah, I know. Half the time my magic doesn’t work, the other half it explodes. Pretty fucking annoying.”

I turn to look at him properly, still trying to dust off the little sparks. “No, it was incredible. I’ve never seen magic that powerful, or beautiful.”

Oh fuck, why did I say that? I’m going to explode myself any second. Simon freezes, then turns to me. His lovely plain eyes are soft. Half of his mouth pulls up into a smile. My pulse is pounding in my ears. “N-No one’s ever called it beautiful before. And...no one’s tried to save me either.”

He starts to reach out to me with his spark kissed digits. I see the little bolts pulling towards me like I’m a magnet. My own magic flares to surface, reaching back towards him. Tiny flames from my fingers curl around the lightning. And a part of me, that horrible instinctual part, desperately wants to grab his hand and add his beautiful, terrifying energy to my own until his body is nothing but an empty husk.

I take a large step away, hands behind my back. Simon does the same. His eyes are wide with terror now. We both know how close we came to giving into temptation.

“We should go to bed,” I mutter.

Snow nods furiously. I speed walk to my side of the dead fire. We both lay down and pull the blankets to our reddening ears. The only sound for ages is the desert wind whistling through the cacti. Until Snow decides to speak up again, God help me.

“Baz?”

“What, Snow?” I snap. I can’t talk to him anymore, it’s too damn painful.

“Have...Have you ever actually fully drained anyone?”

Oh. I wasn’t expecting that. The question hits me in my heart. All that comes to mind is my aunt’s face as I saw her for the first time in weeks. Her happiness turned to utter horror in seconds. The memory still aches deep inside me. I can almost feel that horrible hunger when I first manifested. I squeeze my eyes shut and take a deep breath. “No. But I’ve come close. You?”

Snow pauses too. I can hear his shaky breathing clearly. “I had a hex friend back in London. Penelope. She was really good at magic, like you, so she tried to help me. We could only see each other for an hour a day for safety’s sake, and it worked for awhile. But one time, my magic got so out of control that I came this close to draining her.” He makes a loud sniffing noise. I hate imagining the tears I know are rolling down his face. “She told me it wasn’t my fault but I didn’t care. I didn’t want to hurt her. Next day I got on a boat to America. That was almost a year ago. I’ve been alone ever since, and it’s awful.”

“Is that why you want to go to Hex City?”

“Yeah. I mean, I just want to be able to have some choice, you know? Not make choices because of this power I never asked for. Don’t you feel like that?”

I think about my mother, who lost her life because of what we are. Or my six weeks of torture by that madman. Or how I had to run away from my family in fear of what I’d accidentally do to them.

“Yes,” I whisper, closing my eyes, “all the damn time.”

———————————————

We ride leisurely under the blistering sun. The desert has melted into more of a hot, grassy plain. Surprisingly, the climate and terrain actually gets less tortuous the further south you go in this awful state. I’ve only gone this far south once before. The Call somehow gets even stronger here. It threatens to fill every nook and cranny of my brain, but I beat it back. No disgraced Confederate chaplain or Aztec witch woman gets to decide what I do.

Snow is mumbling to himself about it being too hot. My head is whirring with a terrible, awful idea, but it won’t go away. My eyes keep drifting towards his beautiful face, and my mind keeps thinking of his beautiful magic. I got only a taste of the endless, consuming feeling of it, and it was exhilarating. If only he could control it.

I groan. “Snow, stop your horse.”

He looks at me confused, but does as I say. “What is it?”

“Get off. I’m going to help you with your magic.”

His eyes bug out of his skull. “What?! Why?”

“Because as incredible as your magic can be, I’d rather not have you explode when you sleep ten feet away from me.” 

It’s a convincing lie. Honestly, I want him to be able to protect himself. I don’t know exactly how long it will take to get to the south, or what could happen before then. Simon might’ve been killed if I wasn’t there. And I don’t know how long I will be with him.

I swing off my horse and Snow follows. We walk out into the empty plateau. He shuffles his feet nervously, chewing at his nails.

“Stay here,” I say.

I walk out and place my old empty flask on a cactus (it’s rusting anyway). Snow looks at it confused. I gesture to the metal bottle, then put my hands behind my back. “Hit that with a blast but avoid the cactus.

“O-Okay...” I watch his throat as he gulps. God, I want to touch that throat, I want to touch everywhere. But I’ll kill him if I do. It makes me hate my magic even more.

Simon raises his hand and takes aim. Small sparks dance between his fingers. One by one, they begin to increase. A small ball of lightning collects in his palm. Snow curls his fingers in, but they seem to be struggling. The ball starts to grow larger and Snow clenches harder. With little to no warning, a lightning bolt shoots out and hits the side of the flask. A blackened mark is left in its wake, but that’s nothing compared to the cactus. A massive chunk has been blown out of the top. It’s charred remains lay strewn on the gras.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Sorry, I was losing control, I had to let it go. Would’ve been much worse if I didn’t.”

“That’s alright, Snow. You technically did hit the flask.”

Snow scoffs, running a hand through his beautiful, sweaty hair. “Sure, I guess...”

I pluck the flask from the half destroyed desert fauna. Another horrible idea is coming to my mind, and I just might be mad enough to do it. “Maybe you need a greater motivator for staying in control.”

“Huh?”

I place the flask on my hand and hold my arm out to the side. “Hit the flask, but not me.”

Snow goes wide eyed again and inhales sharply like he’s been kicked. “A-Are you serious?! You just saw what I did to that cactus, right?”

“Well, you’re going to have to be accurate, unless you want me to end up like said cactus”

He pulls at his curls anxiously. The tiniest of parks fly off the ends. “I don’t know, Baz. I don’t want to hurt you...”

I try to ignore my rapidly beating heart. It’s been so annoying this past week, trying to get what it can’t have. I just flash a smirk at him. “Well, I believe that you won’t. Care to prove me right?”

A red colour spreads across his face. Part of me hopes that’s not just the sun affecting his pale, freckled complexion. “Alright, I’ll try.”

He rubs his hands together. His skin simmers with magic once again. It smells intoxicatingly good. Snow holds his right hand out, palm flat. The electricity builds on the surface. He keeps his hand clenched, but the energy threatens to spill over his fingers. I resist the urge to run in as fast as I can. I didn’t lie, I do trust him. But living on my own for almost three years has given me quite the self preservation instinct.

Sweat prickles Snow’s brow. He uses his opposite arm to keep the other one steady. “C’mon, Simon,” I whisper. “You can do it.”

The jagged white bolt shoots from his skin, far less formless than the last one. It zigs and zags, but in the end hits the flask straight on. The bottle explodes in a shower of jagged metal. I throw up a makeshift shield just in time. When I look at Snow, he’s flat on his ass, panting hard.

“Holy shit,” he says.

“‘Holy shit’ is right,” I respond with a chuckle.

He looks at me with a wide grin. It shines brighter than the midday sun. “I did it! That’s the most controlled my magic has ever been! Thank you, Baz.”

I nod. “You’re welcome, Snow. My aunt always said danger is a great motivator to learn. Especially when it comes to magic.”

Snow lays down on the grass, panting hard. It seems he’s not going to get up any time soon. “Your aunt, was she the one that taught you about magic?”

I kick at a piece of rusted shrapnel, my back to the resting Snow. “Yes, before it manifested, obviously. She wanted me to be prepared just in case. Her whole side of the family has a history of magic. It only appears every few generations or so. We both drew the short ends of the bloodline straw I guess.”

“You’re lucky with that, y’know. I never had anyone to teach me properly. Penny tried, but we never got far enough to make a difference. When I first got magic, this guy called the Mage offered to help. But it turned out he just wanted to drain me. I killed him by accident when he tried. I really didn’t mean to hurt hum, but he wouldn’t stop...”

I turn to him. There’s far too much pain in his eyes. “You had every right to defend yourself. Don’t feel bad.”

He lifts his head up. His smile is sort of sad, but it’s still gorgeous. “Thanks, Baz.”

I smile back as best I can. “You’re most welcome, Snow.” I place my hands in my pockets, desperately clenching my fists in hopes to keep my emotions at bay. “Unfortunately, I’m out of flasks. But we do have an oversupply of fauna. Want to try and not destroy a cactus this time?”

“Okay.” Snow nods, breathing steadily. “Okay, I’ll try.”

Snow takes his stance across from another unfortunate cactus. I watch him and give advice, but slowly have to back away as Snow’s sweet scent permeates the air. I try not to imagine being close to Snow, not having to fear him, him not having to fear me. Oh, what a life that could be.

———————————————

After another week of dodging the Red Weed, we finally get to somewhere. Covent Gardens, a town I suppose is named after the London borough. It’s sizable enough to have a slightly good inn; as in none of the panels are falling off and the sign is missing only a single letter. That’s practically a palace in these parts. I walk in with gusto, making the shutters rattle, Simon following behind me with his head.

Everyone looks at us. I’m not sure how obvious our hexation is, but I suppose we look enough like trouble. Plus my skin tone isn’t an asset here. Or anywhere, honestly. So I sneer and most turned away.

“They’re afraid of us,” Simon mumbles.

“As they should be,” I reply deadpan. I go straight to the barkeep, a bulky white man with truly horrific mutton chops. “I need two rooms.”

The man crosses his unnaturally large arms. “We don’t serve... people like you.”

I grip the bar lip, nails digging into the half rotted wood. “Like me how? Hexes or brown people?”

He sneers at me. “Neither.”

The fire blazes in my eyes. Wood blackens under my skin. “Now listen here, you stupid bastard, you better rent us a room or-”

“Now, now, Basilton,” a familiar voice says, “no need to be so rude. I’m sure we can come to an agreement.”

“Hello, Nicodemus.”

Nico moves to stand next to me. His suit is cheap, the stitches fraying at the seams. He’s still got that sort of menacing look, but he looks tired too.

“Fancy seeing you here, Pitch. How’s your aunt?” He smiles, showing off his missing eye teeth. It makes me want to punch him in his stupid face.

“Why would you care, Petty? You’re the one who left her after everything she did for you.”

He hangs his head back with a groan. “Still defending your family’s honour, I see. Ain’t my fault I wanted to realise my full potential.”

“What, by getting your teeth pulled out so you could get magic? Even when my aunt warned you what a curse being a hex was? You’re still an arrogant idiot then.”

Nicodemus growls and grabs my wrist. His magic reaches out to clash with my own. It’s slick like oil, wrapping around my fire like a snake. But there’s a roughness to it. A sort of mangy, wild energy that I remember all too well from the hex duel with my aunt. Now, I can smell the acrid tang of it too. It leaves a sour taste in the back of my throat. I’m not surprised his magic is as disgusting as he is.

“Looks like you went through some shit too, Basilton,” he hisses. “You’ve got the same fire as dear old Fi. What, the guilt of letting your mum die finally get to you? Try to end it all? Too bad, you just became the monster she never wanted you to be instead.”

His power gnashes at mine, trying to rip it apart and eat it. But Nicodemus has made a fatal assumption; that he’s more powerful than me. I push back against him hard. The fire rushes through my every vein. I revel in the way Nico’s eyes go wide. My hand shoots up to his throat and I shove him down so hard his back bends against the wooden bar.

“You bastard,” I growl. “After all these years you still don’t know how to keep your bloody mouth shut.” I hold his throat even tighter. His eyes bug out of his skull. “Maybe I should shut it permanently.”

I open the gates within, and his magic begins to pour into me. It’s the world’s greatest adrenaline rush. I’m invincible, powerful, a bloody god. Nico gasps and tries to push me away. But I’m still stronger. He could never stop me.

“Baz!” Snow shouts. “Stop it!”

I turn to him with burning eyes. Everything I see is cloudy, like a smoke screen or rippling water. “Why?!”

“Because,” his voice is desperate, and maybe even caring, “we shouldn’t be the monsters they think we are. Just look at them, Baz!”

I still have enough sense to hear what he says. The patrons cower in fear, eyes wide with terror as they look at me. It’s not an expression anyone wants to be subjected to, or cause. And though I hate him, Nicodemus is right. My mother never wanted me to be this. Another terrible, murderous, evil hex.

With all my strength and good sense, I find the will to let Nicodemus’ neck go. His power rushes back into him with a sputtering gasp. I glare at him as I pull away, fingers still trailing with flames.

“Leave,” I say flatly. “Now.”

Nicodemus runs faster than I’ve ever seen a man run before. I take a few deep breaths. It takes a moment for my magic to balance out. It still yearns for Nicodemus’ power, but I beat it back into submission. I won’t let the hunger control me. Then I walk towards the now terrified barkeep.

“Rooms still not available?” He shakes his head frantically. “Good.” I slap down some American money. “Two rooms, please. Also throw in some whiskey. I need a drink after all that.”

The man picks two keys out of a box, then a bottle and glasses from the shelf. He shoves them both forward on the bar and takes two large steps back. I snatch them up with a tip of my ridiculous cowboy hat.

“Cheers, mate.”

Snow and I take a table in a corner. No one dares to look at us. I pour drinks for both of us and shove his glass to the other side of the table. We’re as far apart as we can be but it’s still risky. My power is still hungry. And Simon still smells delicious. But I won’t hurt him. I can’t.

“So,” Simon says, vowel drawn out, “who was that?”

I throw back the whiskey. It’s sour and burns my throat, but it's better than Slipfoot’s at least. “His name is Nicodemus Petty. He and my aunt Fiona were friends growing up. They bonded over their mutual family history of hexation. But when my aunt and his sister, Ebb, manifested magic as teenagers, Nico was jealous. Fiona and Ebb both tried to tell him that hex magic was far more of a curse than a blessing, but he never listened. He wanted the power. When I was about nine, he finally succeeded in activating his own latent magic.”

“By having two of his teeth ripped out...”

“Mhm. First thing he did was stumble all bloody mouthed to my aunt’s flat.” I clench the glass so hard I nearly break it. “The bastard attacked her by surprise, and tried to steal her magic. He almost killed her, but Fiona got a lucky shot and threw him out the window.” I take a deep breath, trying to stay calm. “As you can guess, I was there. It wasn’t pretty.”

“I can imagine.” He pulls in, picking at his nails nervously. “Um, if you don’t mind me asking...w-what was he talking about? With your mum?”

I pour myself another helpful shot of whiskey. I want to drown my brain in the stuff, honestly. I’ve never talked about my mum, it’s too painful, like ripping out a fingernail. But Snow has shown so much of himself to me. It seems unfair to hide. “My aunt and I aren’t the only hexes in our family.”

His eyes go wide as the revelation hits him, “Your mum is a hex too?”

I nod slowly, then drink the alcohol in one gulp. The warmth tingles in my veins and loosens my tongue. I stare at the glass, watching the light refract through it’s bends. “She was, but my father is human. They loved each other enough to not be scared, I guess. They never meant to have children. I was an accident, but my mother wanted me in spite of the risks. My father said she cried with happiness when she saw I was a boy. She thought if she kept me safe, I’d never become a full hex.” I flick a paint chip off the table with more force than necessary. “Then she died protecting me, doing what she promised.”

“How? Was it another hex?”

“Even worse, scared humans.” 

Snow’s face falls even more. He takes a long sip from his own drink. “So they tried to kill her?”

“They tried to kill all of us. Someone heard of my mother’s hexation, and they rallied a group together to fight our family. It wasn’t a real fight though. The cowards snuck in and tried to stab us. My mother killed almost all of them quickly” My fists clench so tight it hurts. “The last one nearly got me, but my mother stepped in front. He burned to ash just after he stabbed her through the throat.”

“Oh. Not even a hex could come back from that kind of wound...”

“I know,” I say between gritted teeth. “I know that very well, Snow.” I delicately place the glass down with a strained hand. “I...I tried to stop the bleeding but there was nothing I could do. I had no magic then. Even so, I doubt my powers could’ve helped.” A little flame pops up in my hand with barely a thought. Making fire is more natural than breathing for me, after all. I watch the scarlet snake dance between my fingers. “My family’s abilities have always been better at destruction.”

Simon takes another long sip, polishing off his drink. “I don’t know what my family’s like, but I hope they’re not like me. This power...it’s too much for anyone to have. I’d give it up in a heartbeat.”

“We all would, Snow. That’s what the humans don’t get. Most hexes are just as scared of themselves as humans are.” I pour my third drink. It’s been awhile since I’ve drank so much in one sitting, but if I’m going to get sozzled, tonight is a good time. “But that’s not up to us. We’re born like this. Nothing we can do but try to survive.”

“Believe me, I know that. All I’ve ever done is survive. In the orphanage, on the streets, here in America.” He lets out a small, sad laugh. “Hexation is how I ended up on the street, actually.” Snow looks directly down at the table. “When I was 11, I, uh, had a dream that I was exploding. When I woke up, the entire orphanage had been blown to pieces. Luckily no one was hurt, but the matron couldn’t very well keep a hex among other children.”

“So she thought sending you to roam among other humans was safer?”

He shrugs. “I don’t think she cared as long as I was far away from her.”

I scoff, swinging the glass between two fingers. “Sounds about usual for humans. What made you manifest? A particularly bad paddling from the matron?”

Snow chews on his bottom lip. His fingers drum the wood slowly. “I, uh, actually didn’t have to suffer. I’m one of those rare cases of sudden manifestation, apparently. That’s what Penny called it anyway. She said it was rare but possible.”

My grip on the glass gets even tighter. A sudden jealous rage consumes my mind. So Snow just exploded one day at eleven. That’s awful, of course, I’ll never deny that. But all I can think of is the coffin. The endless night of being trapped in that box, waiting for a relief that wouldn’t come, until I finally broke and became the last thing I ever wanted to be. I went through absolute hell. Of course I assumed Snow had to, like all other male hexes. But he didn’t. He’s never had the acute kind of torture I did. It’s not fair.

“Excuse me,” I say more harshly than I mean to, “I’m tired. I think I’ll turn in.”

Snow’s pretty plain eyes go wide. “O-Oh...okay. Good night, then.”

“Night.” I snatch the bottle up and leave the key for his room. Then I stomp up the stairs with irrational anger still burning me up. I know it’s stupid, but I can’t get past it. Male hexes get their magic through suffering. It’s a well known fact. How could Snow be like me without the same kind of pain? How could he ever fully understand me the way I thought he could?

The second my room door is closed, I drink down the last of the whiskey bottle. I’ve tried to avoid alcohol over the past few years. It would be far too easy for me to drink away the pain, the memories, the horrible guilt. Eventually, I’d drown myself in a bottle. That’s not a way I want to go. But one night of indulgence will be fine.

I wobble towards my bed, shedding my outer layers as I go. I collapse face first onto the old mattress. Whiskey clouds my mind. And when I finally pass out, all I see is empty darkness. I’m not sure if that’s better or worse than the nightmares.

———————————————

“...safe?”

“Out cold...”

The voices stay patchy as I slip in and out of consciousness. I try to force my eyes fully open, but the pounding in my head is too much. Indistinguishable figures move on the edges of my blurry vision. There’s little to no light. It must still be night, maybe only a couple hours since I passed out.

“Is..right thing?”

“Hex...Rook and Pargeter...dangerous...we...safe.”

“Fine.”

Something grabs both my wrists and my ankles. I try to struggle but I must still be too drunk. I can’t get my limbs to move save for some squirming. I try to summon my magic, but my mind can’t concentrate. It’s no use. Bloody hell, I’m trapped.

“Night night, hex,” a horrible voice says. Something soft is pressed hard against my face. I can’t take in air, I can’t breathe, I can’t fucking breathe. It’s like the coffin. No, I can’t do this again. I try to thrash harder and scream but it’s still no use.

Oh Lord, I’m going to die here. I wonder if I’ll see my mother on the other side. I wonder if I even have a soul to go to the other side. And I wonder how if Snow is okay. Christ, my last conversation with him ended in anger. If I had known, I would’ve said everything I’ve wanted to say this past week. But the first thing would be ‘I’m sorry.’

I’m sorry, Snow, for everything I said and thought. And I’m sorry for leaving you alone.

“Hey! Get off him, you bastards!” That voice is familiar even in my half drunken state. Thank whatever gods are listening that he’s okay.

“It’s the other one!” one of my assailants shouts. “Wasn’t Garth supposed to take care of him?!”

“That damn idjit fucked up!”

I hear the telltale signs of punches and kicks thrown about. One of the hands on me pulls off. All this excitement has thankfully sobered me up some. I kick some stupid bastard right in the stomach.

“Fuck!” they wheeze. The other humans are wise and let go of my wrist. I’m on my feet in a second.

“Bloody humans,” I growl out, still slurring slightly. “You can’t even let me fucking sleep?!”

The burly barkeep scowls at me. My would be murder weapon is still in his hand. “Eat shit, you demon.”

I scowl right back at him. “Oh, you want a demon? I’ll give you a fucking demon, love.”

The fire blazes up in me, all shining black and scarlet, and I make little effort to contain it. I let the flames fly out and encase the man almost completely. He screeches as his skin bubbles and burns under my powers.

“Stop it!” a woman yells. She comes at me with a knife raised. A whip of fire forms in my hand instantly. With one crack, it wraps around her wrist. She screams in the exact same way and lets her weapon clatter on the floor. She goes to her knees, clutching her blackened, blistered skin.

“You bastard,” she cries. “How could you?!”

“How could I!?” Even more fire plays over my hands. “I could ask you the same thing, human.”

“We’re trying to protect ourselves, monster!”

In that moment, in her eyes, I see every human who’s hurt me. The people who mocked me, who killed my mother, who turned me into this. All sense leaves my mind in an instant. “I’m a monster only because of you!”

With one wave of my hand, she’s thrown against the wall hard enough to make it shake. I spin around to see a man trying to crack Snow’s skull open with a butcher’s cleaver. One well aimed blast sends him flying as well. Another casts two aside. They don’t move much afterwards, but I find myself caring little. Let them die like my mother did.

“Baz, stop it!” Snow shouts. I ignore him as I send the last assailant against the wall, listening to their screams as I burn their chest. “Baz!”

“Fuck off, Snow!” I roar. “I- Ack!”

Pain rips through my shoulder. I clutch it and my hand becomes wet with what I assume must be blood. I fall forward. My nose cracks against the floor. I scream in pain and flames roar out of me in a massive plume They hit everything, including my shooter and the walls of the room. I can feel the whole space burning around us.

“Baz!” Snow’s voice is beyond panicked. I hear his footsteps rush toward me. His hands hover over me but won’t touch. He can’t touch me.

“Get out, Simon,” I rasp , turning my head to the side to look at him. He’s covered in bruises and ash. Yet he’s still so beautiful. “Run before more of them come.”

“Shut up, arsehole! I haven’t turned my back on you yet, and I’m not going to start now!”

If the world weren’t literally on fire right now, I’d find that touching. I close my eyes. At least my dying image will be of him. “Don’t be an idiot, Snow.” Surprisingly, the bastard fucking laughs. My eyes snap open again. The bloody back of his hand is pressed against his mouth as he giggles. “What the fuck is funny about this?”

“You,” he laughs, “called me Simon before.”

My face heats up, and it’s not from the fire. “No I didn’t.”

“We’re fucking dying and you can’t admit you used my first name?”

“I’m dying. You’re being an idiot and not running away like you should!”

“You’re too stubborn to die, Baz, and we both know it.” He jumps to his feet. “Get up, we’re getting out of here.”

“Snow-”

“Or are you too much of a yellow belly to get up and try?”

Oh, this bastard. In only two weeks, he’s learned me too well. I scowl at his stupid pretty face as I push myself up on my good arm. At the same time, thundering footsteps can be heard from the stairwell.

“That route is out of the question,” I say. “Where are we to go, Snow?”

“This way.” He holds his hand and in a mere two seconds, the opposite wall is blown to pieces in a rain of spark. “Now let’s go!”

“We’re on the bloody second floor!”

Snow runs towards the gaping hole and throws himself out. I rush to the edge, blood pounding in my ear. No, Snow cannot die, I can’t let him die. But to my utter shock and awe, Snow is floating his way down to the ground. He stops and starts and still hits the ground in an uncoordinated roll, but he’s okay.

“Oh, Snow, you brilliant moron,” I whisper.

“They’re probably still in there!” someone shouts from the hallway. I take a few steps back, breathe deep, and run off the splintered edge just as the humans burst through the door.

Instead of sending my fire outwards like usual, I keep it within me. I will my body to rise high like flames from a candle. My legs move slowly like I’m running in the air. Fuck, this is actually working. Slowly, I let my flame flick and die down, lowering myself along with it. I reach the ground with my own thud but stay on my feet. Snow grins at me. In all this horror, that is the greatest thing to see.

“Let’s get the horses and get out of here, Snow.”

“Agreed, Pitch.”

We sprint to the stables and thankfully find our steeds unharmed. I count ourselves lucky that our attackers didn’t consider them demonic too. Mounting is difficult with my left arm fucked up, but let it never be said that a human bullet could stop Basilton Pitch. I hold the reins with one hand as I spur him into a dash.

The wind whistles in my ears. Snow and I run even faster than we did from the Red Weed. Our kind is always good at running. It’s our natural state.

———————————————

Snow and I ride until it’s nearly dawn. The sky turns purple then crimson with the rising sun in front of us. When I see orange, my horse finally starts to tire out. Snow’s does the same. We slow down then stop.

“Think we’re far enough away?” Snow asks, breath short and strained.

“Yeah,” I reply, sounding the same. “I think they would’ve caught us by now if they were still after us.”

“Good point, good point.” Snow leans forward, putting his forehead on his horse’s neck. “God, I’m fucking knackered. I barely slept.”

“Me too. We should both sleep.”

“What if someone comes after us?”

“Point. Sleep in shifts?”

Snow nods. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

“Good.” I slowly dismount my horse, but get my footing wrong and start to fall. I grab the reins with my left arm and practically scream in pain.

“Baz!” Snow rushes towards me, but stops when I raise my good arm.

“Don’t...” I pant, “don’t come any closer. I’m injured, Snow, and my self control is severely weakened. So unless you wish for death now after just barely escaping it, back away.”

“Oh, yeah, right...” Snow backs far away just as he should, but my heart still aches. “What are we going to do about your shoulder?”

“I can fix it, but I’m going to need your belt”

Snow’s brows shot upwards. “My belt? What for?”

“Just throw it to me, Snow, for Christ’s sake.”

Thank God he doesn’t ask another stupid question. He just unbuckles the belt and does what I ask. I try to not let my hands shake as I fold the belt in half. The last time I did this was three years ago, when I sat in a London alleyway after a drunkard broke my leg, a mere four days after fleeing my home for good.

“Baz, what are you-”

“Snow,” I say firmly, “I need you to do me a favour.”

“Okay...?”

I sit on the ground, belt held tightly in my hand. “I need you to stay right there no matter what. Don’t move, don’t try to help. The best way you can help is to stay fucking still.”

“What the fuck is-”

“Promise me you won’t move, Simon.” I look him right in his blue eyes, my mouth a thin, serious line. “Promise me.”

Snow gives me a once over, then thankfully nods. “Okay, I promise.”

“Good.” I put the belt between my teeth. When I check on Snow, he looks beyond panicked. “If it makes it easier,” I say clumsily between the leather, “you don’t have to watch.”

“Baz-”

I slap my right hand over my left shoulder, and it feels like I’m burning from the inside out. My magic scorches my body as it wraps around my injury. The buck shot is pulled through my muscles and skin, ripping and tearing as they go, and I can feel every bit of it. I can also feel as my tissue and bone stretches to knit back together piece by agonizing piece. It’s an indescribable kind of pain. It’s what I imagine hell must feel like. I scream, I can’t help it, but luckily the belt is muffling as well preventing me from biting off a chunk of my tongue. Snow gasps in horror but he doesn’t move. He keeps his promises. I knew he would. He’s a far better man than me.

The burning fades as the skin finally seals shut. I cautiously move my hand, shaking off the shrapnel and gooey viscera that trails between my fingers. God, it's a nasty scab, mangled and uneven and horrifically inflamed. I can only hope the scar won’t be too bad. The one on my calf has faded overtime.

“Are you-”

“Not yet,” I say, cutting off a frightened looking Simon. “This one won’t take as long though.”

I touch my nose, feeling for where the breaks are. I squeeze my eyes shut, and with a horribly painful crack, I move it mostly back into place. I let out a short yell, but just pant and seethe as the bone and cartilage knit back together. I try to wipe the bloody snot from my hand but it's no use. Disgusting, but better than a broken nose. I feel around to make sure things are okay. Well, the tip is a bit crooked, but I can live with that. Right now, I’m thankful to be alive at all.

“Okay,” I sigh, finally taking the teeth mark covered belt out of my mouth, “now I’m done.”

“What the fuck was that?” Snow’s voice is somewhere between fascination and absolute horror. In short, a proper reaction.

“Something my aunt taught me. Hexes are essentially manipulators of energy and matter. And what are bodies but living energy and matter? With practice, you can fix any part of yourself.”

“But isn’t it painful?”

“Was that not obvious?” I snap. But Snow’s genuinely worried face softens my demeanor. “Yes, it’s excruciating. Hence why I try not to use the technique as much as I can.” I massage my still aching shoulder. “Today it was unavoidable, unfortunately.”

Simon runs a nervous hand through his dirty hair. “Fuck...”

I cough out a small laugh. “Yes, that sums it up pretty well.”

He laughs too, just as shaky and sad. “Sums up the whole night.”

The two of us keep chuckling softly in the wee hours of the morning. The ascending sun hurts my tired eyes. Using so much magic has taken everything out of me. I let out a long, deep yawn.

“You sleep first,” Snow says. “I’ll keep watch.”

“No, no, I can-”

“Baz.” He sounds firm, but also tired, and maybe even a little fond. I’m probably imagining that last one though. “Go to bed. I’ll wake you up in about eight hours.”

If I weren’t sleep deprived, magically drained, and recovering from grievous injuries, I would protest more. But Snow is damn lucky today. I simply sigh and stand up to get my cot from my saddlebags. I count our lucky stars we didn’t bring in too many of our supplies to the inn. Maybe God hasn’t completely abandoned us heathen monsters.

“I don’t have the energy to put up my shield,” I say, hoping my tone conveys enough.

“Okay,” Snow replies, “I’ll stay away, don’t worry. I keep my promises.”

My pulse flutters involuntarily. A smile creeps across my face no matter how hard I try to stop it. “I know you do, Simon.”

Snow gifts me one of his sunshine smiles. That’s the last thing I see before turning over and letting myself rest.

———————————————

Snow lets me sleep longer than eight hours. I’d be more mad if I wasn’t so exhausted. In return, I let him oversleep too. We’re both passed out by the time it’s dark again. Even hexes with all our inhumanity need to rest sometimes. Snow and I are lucky we get the chance this time.

In the morning, I reluctantly go to the next closest town. We did leave some of our things behind sadly, including most of our clothes. I’m damn well not going to keep roaming around the south of Texas in my bloody socks, and neither will Snow. I get us some new jackets, boots, and hats, ignoring the strange looks I get from the lily white shopkeeper. 

I grab us some more of that disgusting jerky too. If only good food could keep in these horrific conditions. When I reach the counter, the shopkeeper frowns at the things I lay out.

“You can pay for all this?” she asks. I scowl deeply. I’m too tired for this shit.

“Are people like me not allowed to have money here?” I snap.

“Ya can now, but in my experience, y’all darker folk are better at stealing my stock than paying.”

Bloody hell, I’m too tired for this racist shite. I slam two bills on the counter. “There. Hope I didn’t dirty these up too much for you.”

She glares at me hard. As she reaches for the money, I deliberately brush my finger on hers, and she yelps loudly. The edge of her index is red and inflamed. An undeniable burn mark, but far too small for anyone to believe it came from an evil, bloodthirsty hexslinger.

“Oh dear,” I say deadpan. “Your register must have gotten in the sun. Do be more careful.” I shovel the supplies in my bag as she looks at me wide eyed. “Have a nice day, ma’am.”

I can feel her scared eyes on my back as I leave. I get on my horse and ride out fast. No reason to stay in this shithole any longer. And I need to get back to Snow, where I belong.

———————————————

“Everything okay in town?” Snow asks.

I toss the bundle of clothes at him, along with a bag of jerky. “No one attacked me, if that’s what you mean. I didn’t get made for a hex. But I did get some flack for my skin tone.”

Snow’s face falls a bit. There’s something far too close to pity in his eyes. “Oh. I’m sorry-”

“Don’t, Snow. You’re in no place to apologize for some racist American bastards, it’s not your responsibility. Sorry from you means nothing.”

“But-”

“Would you accept an apology from me on behalf of all the rich men who have treated you like trash before?” Snow’s gaping mouth slowly closes. “Exactly. Now get those on. They’re slightly less dirty than our current garments.”

Snow nods and does what I say. I unbutton off my bloodstained shirt and wince as the tacky fabric peels off my skin. The scab has gotten a little better. That’s something I suppose. My eyes slowly move over to Snow without realising it. I steal a glimpse of his broad, bare back, golden like the rest of him. There are some jagged pink scars but they take nothing away how brightly he shines. I look away before I’m too tempted by what I can’t have.

“Much better,” Snow sighs as he slips on the new boots. “I’m surprised my feet haven’t been ripped to shreds yet.”

“Me too. I’m glad though, I didn’t want to do any more healing.”

“I don’t want you to either, fuck.” I hate how his concern makes me feel so good inside. “I’ll start setting up the fire. It’s going to get dark again soon.”

“By all means, Snow, do all the work. I won’t stop you.”

Snow snorts out a laugh, giving me a cheeky smile I can still see at this distance. Christ, I’m on fire, and for once it’s not from my magic. It’s so much better. I have to look away again before I do something ridiculous and deadly.

By the time the sun is down, Snow has made a wonderful small fire for the two of us. We both warm our hands from opposite sides. I don’t need to do it too much. My magic has almost fully replenished, for better or worse. And I’m so hungry that I actually enjoy the extremely salty bison jerky. Bloody hell, I’m turning into an American.

“Where are we going to go next?” Snow asks, mouth still full. “I’m guessing we should avoid any more towns.”

“Agreed. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather not jump out of another building.”

“We certainly agree there. Christ, I was worried I was going to die.”

“Me too, Snow, me too.” I nervously fiddle with the string on my cloth bag. The words are coming out, and I can’t stop them. “I’m sorry, Snow.”

His brow adorably furrows. “Sorry for what?”

“Sorry for the way I acted that night, before I went to bed. I was very rude to you and I deeply apologize.”

“Oh...okay. Thanks.” He looks down, rubbing the back of his neck. “I-I was confused. Did I do something bad?”

“No, Snow,” I sigh, “you did nothing wrong. It was all me being stupid.”

“Okay...”

I sigh again. God, I can’t dance around it anymore. I have to tell him. After putting up with me for this long, he deserves to know.

“I was angry and...somewhat jealous of you.”

His eyes get very big. “Jealous? Of me?!”

“Yes, in a way. Because...you didn’t have to go through the same kind of suffering I did when I manifested. Which isn’t fair, because you lived on the streets while I grew up in a bloody mansion. It’s just not the same suffering I had, and I was angry I had to go through it when you didn't. Which is absolutely ridiculous, and I’m sorry I pushed that on you.”

“If you don’t mind me asking...what happened?”

I stare at him for a long moment over the fire. He holds my gaze, eyes round with worry and care. It hurts me in the most exquisite way. “It’s not a pretty story, Snow.”

His mouth pulls into a sad, slight smile. “Weren’t you the one who said that all hexes live through hardship, and we have nothing to be ashamed of?”

I chuckle and shake my head. “Using my words against me, a tactic of a true devious hex.”

He shrugs, still wearing that little smile. “What can I say? I can live up to our reputation sometimes.” Snow’s face falls again. “So what happened?”

With a deep sigh, rubbing my forehead, I start the horrid tale.

“My family always knew there was a chance I could be a hex,” I say. “But since my aunt couldn’t sense any magic on me pre manifestation, we assumed that I wasn’t too powerful, and manifestation could be avoided if we were careful. So I lived in the aforementioned secluded mansion all my life and I was never allowed to leave the grounds. All my time was spent reading, doing school work, or learning about hexation from my aunt, just in case. Everything in my life revolved around my mere potential to be a hex. I could never do or see anything. I felt like a prisoner. And when I was 18, I had enough.

“One evening, I snuck out of my room and went into the nearby town. I just wanted to see what was outside my home. But I was a naive sheltered kid. Of course I got lost on my way there and went into an area I never should have. Someone had knocked me out cold, and next thing I knew, I was in a cramped, dark box.”

“A box? What do you mean a box?”

I clench my fists tight until the shaking stops, then slowly let go. “It was a coffin, Snow. I had been trapped inside a coffin.”

I can almost feel the way Snow’s stomach must drop out at those words. I know, mine did the same when I realised where I was that night. “W-Why?!”

“It was hard to hear him through said coffin, but I got the main idea. He came from some old witch hunter family but had never caught an actual hex, until me. He’d heard the stories about my mother and had been secretly spying on me for months. When I escaped, he took his chance to kidnap me.”

“So he took you just to taunt you from outside a coffin?”

“I wish that was all he did,” I grumble. “He told me that the coffin was a test. There was a chance the hexation had skipped me over. If I was a hex, being stuck in the coffin would make me manifest, then he could kill me in good conscience. If I wasn’t and didn’t manifest, well, as he put it; ‘there are always casualties in the war for righteousness, boy.’”

Snow’s jaw drops to the grassy ground. “So even if you were human, he would’ve killed you anyway?”

“Mhm, mad bastard.” 

“How long did he keep you there before you escaped? A few days?”

I take long, steady breaths, beating back the old fear that creeps up my throat like bile. I can almost still smell that unique rotten scent from the coffin. I’ll never forget it. I never can.

“Snow,” I say slowly, “I was in that coffin for six weeks.”

And I thought he looked horrified before. Snow drops his jerky bag, hands shaking. I want to grab them, hold them still, comfort him in whatever way I can. The urge is almost stronger than the Call.

“S-Six weeks?! How are you still alive?”

“Thank the witch hunter,” I grumble. “He drilled very small air holes in the lid, and gave me enough food and water to keep me alive but starving. I think, hex or not, he wanted me to suffer because I was my mother’s son. A hex’s child was just as guilty of sin in his eyes.” I rub the bridge of my nose. It aches with the pain of my past. “At the time, I had no idea how long I was in there. It was just one endless night of torture. I begged and pleaded with the hunter to let me go, but he only laughed and called me pathetic hex scum. After six weeks, well, he finally got what he wanted.”

“You manifested.”

“Almost as violently as you did.” I trace the lines of my hand, the skin rough from my fire. I remember my mother’s hands being the same. “The details are blurry, but I remember enough. It started as just a tingling in my gut, but soon it became a burn. And then it spread as quickly as a forest fire.”

“Is it always fire with you?” The corner of Snow’s lip quirks up. The bit of teasing lilt in his voice makes me feel a bit lighter. I can't help but smile back a little.

“Usually, yes. It's always run very strong in my family.” I bounce a flame between my fingers. The movement is strangely calming to me. “I quickly learned I was no different. Before I knew it, I let out a massive ring of fire in every direction. It blew the coffin apart, of course, and turned my captor into a charcoal husk.”

Snow scoffs, a surprisingly vicious expression on his face. “Better than he deserved.”

“Agreed. I have no idea what happened to his body. I left almost immediately, though I wasn’t fully conscious. Six weeks in the coffin had deprived me of most of my mental faculties. Luckily, he kept me not far from home, and I could wander back on pure muscle memory. But going home turned out to be a terrible idea.” I grab the small fire and snuff it out in one go. But my fist stays clenched. “My aunt had been staying there while everyone searched for me. The second I walked through the front door, I could easily smell her. She was overjoyed to see me, until she smelled me too. And as I said, most of my mental faculties were gone.”

“So you attacked her on instinct.”

I chuckle sadly. “Quick study there, Snow. I didn’t even know what I was doing. I was just so bloody hungry all of sudden. I can’t even describe it.”

“You don't need to describe it to me, Baz.” He brings his knees under his chin. “I’ve felt hex hunger too. It’s...awful when you’re in the middle of it.”

“And when you’re not, you try to drown it out or distract yourself. But deep down, you know one day you’ll give up and listen. Then it will take over.”

Snow nods, looking at me in the eye. I’ve seen so much profound sadness in a person’s face. “And you’ll hurt someone, no matter how much you’ll regret it later.”

If I have a soul, it’s aching horribly. How could fate be so cruel as to give me Snow? So wonderfully brave and kind to a fault, and who actually understands what my life is like. The perfect man. And someday soon, he’s going to kill me. There’s no doubt I’ll be the one to die. I won’t kill him, not ever. I’d let him take everything from me before I’d kill him.

“Did you hurt your aunt?”

Thankfully, I can shake my head to that. “No, not at all. She was an experienced magic user, while I was a starving, half crazed newly minted hex. She took me down in seconds. When I woke up again, I was cleaned up and in my room. It took a second to regain my bearings, but I soon remembered what had happened...what I had become. There wasn’t any debate in my mind. Within an hour, I had packed my most practical clothes along with any small valuables I could pawn. Then I ran away and never looked back.”

“Which is how you ended up in America.”

“What better way to protect my family from me than by putting an ocean between us? At first, I stayed in an empty little corner of the American frontier. I just wanted to live out my lonely hex existence as long as possible. I didn’t expect the Call or this looming hex war.”

“No one did,” Simon sighs. “Hexes working together has never been possible before. Who could’ve imagined some American preacher would team up with an Aztec goddess to do just that?”

“Fair point. But now he’s made our existences much harder in a way. Look what those humans tried to do to us at the inn. They were even more scared because of Rook”

“Yeah...”

I groan, pushing my face into my hands, rubbing it up and down. “I never asked to be like this. I tried my hardest to avoid being like this. Then that choice was ripped away from me by some madman. Now I’m trapped between murderous humans or a bloodthirsty witch goddess. Why am I here? Why do I have to be here?!”

“Baz-”

“I don’t want this,” I choke out through my building sobs. “I want to see my family again. I just want to go home!”

I breathe hard and fast, holding back tears with all my strength. No, I refuse to cry. I swore to never cry again after the coffin, because I wasn't sure I could survive falling apart again. Yet here I am. I thought I had shed every tear I have there. I’m so pathetic.

“It’s okay,” Simon says. His voice is far louder than before. “Whatever you’re feeling is okay. It’s...it’s okay if you’re not.”

Slowly, cautiously, I lower my hands, blinking away the tears that had collected. I inhale sharply. Snow is less than two feet away from me. I can count the moles on his face, see the golden highlights in his bronze. But worse, his unbelievably delicious scent fills every cavity of my nose.

“You really shouldn’t sit so close, Snow,” I whisper. My eyes fall down and become completely fixed on Simon’s plush lips.

“I know,” he says under his breath, “but I don’t care.”

He touches my hand, and I feel his magic run through me. That explosive sensation pulses through my veins so hard it almost makes me gasp. The instinctual part of my brain goes fucking mad. It wants me to grab his throat and drain every drop of his magic, his essence, his very soul. My breathing gets shallow and laboured.

“Simon...” I say.

And then he kisses me.

It’s cautious and shy. His lips barely brush against mine, but I feel it everywhere else, especially in the way our powers rise to meet each other. The magic collides, but doesn’t clash. They meld and twist together at our points of contact, desperately needing to connect.

Snow opens his mouth, turning the kiss into one of pure heat and hunger. I gladly do the same. He grabs either side of my face and shoves his tongue down my throat. I grip his collar and push back against him. My entire body is filled with endless energy. I’m a star going supernova. And I want to explode with Simon. My nails scratch viciously across his neck. He clenches his fist in my hair, pressing our faces closer. I shudder as Simon bites hard on my bottom lip. I’m wrapped in cold heat, wrapped up in him. I feel so alive. It feels so right. But it’s wrong.

With all the strength I have, I shove Snow off me. We both fall back on the ground, breaking our closed circuit of feeding on each other simultaneously. Simon scrambles further away panting. I’m similarly out of breath. Both our lips trail white smoke, like they’ve been singed by ice. My magic readjusts after being sucked away and added to all at the same time. A bit of Snow’s explosive energy still sits in me, swirling around like a miniature star. We just stare at each other wide eyed for a long time.

“Shit,” Simon whispers.

I sigh heavily, running a shaky hand through my hair. “Well said.”

“We nearly killed each other.”

“Mages don’t meddle, Snow. We both know that.”

Simon groans, clutching his hair in his fists. “I know, I know. I almost killed Penny last time and I swore it would never happen again. But look at me now. Of course I fuck up.” I can see tears forming under his eyes. “What’s the point of being an all powerful hex if it means being alone forever?! I can blow up a building with my mind but I can’t even bloody kiss you! It’s not fair!”

I pick at my shirt sleeve with shaking fingers. “Maybe God is punishing us.”

“We didn’t ask to be like this, Baz!”

“That doesn’t change what we are, Simon! We’re freaks of nature, cannibalistic monsters!” I nearly rip through the fabric of my shirt. I'm so angry and so fucking tired. “Maybe we truly are devil spawn or something, like all the humans say. Maybe they’re right to be scared of all of us...”

I turn away from him, just staring at the fire. The sting of the smoke keeps me from sinking too low into my self loathing. Snow moves in my peripheral. We sit side by side. My skin prickles as he hovers his hand over mine. It takes every bit of my will to not try and drain him again.

“There’s somewhere we can go where we aren’t 'Devil spawn,'” he says.

I tense up. “Simon, that’s risky. It could all be a farce.”

“I don’t care if you think it’s just a farce, Baz! It’s still a chance. For you and me, for us.” He lightly brushes one of my fingers. I have to rip my hand away before I hurt him again. His pretty eyes are filled with pain. “See? Wouldn’t you like to stop doing that? Isn’t it worth the risk?”

I’ve been running for most of my life. I ran from my mother's legacy for as long as I could. I ran from my family when I feared my own hunger. And I could run now, from Simon and the fear of killing him. But I’d also be abandoning the chance for some sort of happy life. It may not be perfect, but it would be far more than my ancestors ever had before. Can I sacrifice that for fear?

“I’m tired, Snow,” I say weakly. “We should both get some rest.”

“But Baz-”

“Let me sleep on it, alright? Please?”

Snow takes in a deep breath, and lets out a long sigh. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

I want to kiss him so badly right now. Just grab his gorgeous, sunshine face and kiss him goodnight. Since I can’t, I smile as genuinely as I can at him. It’s not easy for me, but I mean it with him. “Goodnight, Simon.”

Snow stares at me for a long moment. But slowly, a smile creeps across his face too. The fondness threatens to melt me, “Goodnight, Baz.”

We keep our eyes locked for as long as we can. When I finally lay down, putting my crackling shield around me, the image of Snow’s wonderful face relaxes me into sleep.

———————————————

I bang my fists against the wood over and over, ignoring my already numerous splinters.

“Help!” I yell. “Someone help me! Please, get me out of here!”

All my pleas fall on deaf ears, as usual. No matter what I do, no matter how loud I scream. I’m stuck in this damned coffin. I scratch at it until my fingernails tear from their beds. Blood drips into my mouth, leaving an iron taste in the back of my scream sore throat.

“I’m not a fucking hex! I just want to go home!” I sob so hard I nearly choke on my own breath. “Just let me go home.”

My aching arms finally fall. I curl in on myself as much as I can within my confines. I close my eyes, but there’s little to no difference in the endless pitch black. Tears run hot down my face. They leave small trails in the dirt that’s accumulated over...however long I’ve been here. I don’t know anymore. Time is meaningless where there’s no sunrise or sunset. Life is meaningless in here.

“Baz?”

His voice is far away, but it still rings clear. My eyes slide open. “Simon?”

“Oh lord. Hang on, Baz! I'll get you out!”

I can only hear as Snow desperately tugs at the coffin lid. It should be impossible, the thing is nailed shut, but somehow Snow rips it open. The light is dim yet still hurts my eyes. I can't help but hiss at the pain.

“It’s okay, Baz,” he says in that unbelievably soft tone.

His hand reaches to me through the blinding light. Slowly, I reach back. And when I hold it, I know I’m supposed to be in pain, but I’m not. Instead, I’m just calm, happy, safe. Snow slowly pulls me out. His arms snake around my back, holding me up. He looks me over, taking in my decrepit, decayed state from ages in that damn box. And miraculously, he smiles. Even like this, he looks at me with such care.

“You’re alright now, Baz. I’m here.” He cups my face. “I’m here for you.”

Emotions clog up my throat and tears run down my cheek, but this time they’re for a good reason. I put my own shaking hand on his golden face. He’s so warm. “Yes, you are. And I’m here for you too, Simon.”

He’s still grinning as I lean forward, pressing my lips to his. But this time there’s no fear I’ll kill him. There’s just the utter joy of being with the one who understands me best, the one I want the most.

Oh, how I want this.

———————————————

I blink awake slowly. The morning sun is just rising over the horizon, turning the grassy landscape violet. I sit up and see the now familiar body on the other side of the fire. Snow sleeps in a knot, arms and legs pulled in. The furrow in his brow says he’s in the middle of a nightmare too. Though mine wasn’t one by the end. Not when he was there.

My mind is made up.

Once again, I’m packing my things lowly, waiting for Snow to wake. Luckily, he stirs while I’m only halfway through tying up the cot. He rubs the sleep from his eyes in such a terribly adorable way.

“Morning,” I say.

“Morning,” he yawns. “Are we going now? Or...are you?”

My heart seizes, but only for a moment. He’s right to be concerned. The fact that we’ve travelled together for two weeks without killing each other is a miracle among hexes. After last night’s close call, a sensible man would leave and never return. I was once a sensible human man. But I’m a deranged, bloodthirsty hex now. Why not act like one?

“You should get up and start packing, Snow. If we’re going to make it to the Mexican border before nightfall, we’ll have to ride fast.”

His eyes go rounder than a full moon. “You mean...”

I pull the pack tie tight. “We’re going to Hex City.”

“What changed your mind?

I sigh heavily, then walk over to him. I stay at a safe distance of course but Snow’s magic pulls me to him, my body begging me to take it. Instead, I simply hold out my hand to him. Snow stares for a moment but does catch on. He offers his own to me. Once again, our magics reach out to each other, wisps of fire and lightning twining together. It sends a faint whisper of that explosive adrenaline through my veins. So incredible and so wrong.

I snap my hand away, fists clenched hard. “Because of that. If I were a more selfless person, I would simply leave, but unfortunately I’m not. Are you?” Snow looks me over. His eyes pierce me in a way no one’s ever has before. He slowly shakes his head. “Exactly. I may be scared of Rook and his goddess, but I’m more scared of hurting you. There’s only one place where I won't.”

“Hex City.” He chews on the corner of his bottom lip. “What if you’re right though, and Rook’s price is too high?” 

“Then at least we’ll pay it knowing we tried to have a real life, instead of running like we’ve always had to.” I stand straight with my head held high. No matter the fear, I’m sure of this. “I think we’ve both suffered long enough, Simon.”

The way Snow’s face relaxes means the world to me. I love seeing that, seeing what he looks like without the heavy burden of hexation on his shoulders. Maybe I’ll be able to see that more in Hex City.

“It’ll probably be nice there,” he says. “I mean, a city made for hexes by hexes is going to be weird, but I bet it’ll look amazing in it’s own way.”

I chuckle and nod. “Agreed. Buildings and roads made by magic will certainly be interesting.”

“Penny would probably want to study them.” He sighs, but there’s a lightness to. “Maybe Penny will come one day, and I could see her again.”

“Maybe. I would love to meet her. I might be able to see my aunt again one day, too. I could introduce you to her.”

He beams so bright at me I fear I’ll get sunburnt. “I’d like that a lot.”

“Me too, Snow. So let’s get going.”

We finish packing very quickly. Snow gets on his horse as clumsy as he usually does. I snort at the way his American cowboy hat nearly falls off his head. The death glare he gives me has little impact, what with the way he’s grinning. He hasn’t stopped grinning almost since he woke up. I can’t blame him. I have trouble controlling my smile either.

“Ready?” he asks. As if he even has to. I’ve made my choice, and I’m sticking to it.

“Ready,” I say. “Let’s go.”

Snow and I both send our horses into gallops. We soar across the grassy plain, the Texas sun illuminating our way. The impending hex war still looms over us. But I will fight until my last breath to keep any happiness Simon and I can find.

I can almost see our future. Soon, we’ll reach the terrifying and wonderful Hex City. Rook will ask for his price, and we’ll pay, because it’ll mean a freedom we've never known before. We’ll be able to hold hands, kiss whenever we want, sleep in the same bed, simply be around each other with no fear of our hexacious hunger. It’s more than I could have ever dreamed of even a few months ago.

For once, I’m going to run towards something good, instead of away from the darkness inside me. I cannot wait.

———————————————

AN: And that's all folks! I hope people enjoyed that, even if y'all have never read Hexslinger. If you wanna read the books, I highly recommend them, tho be warned they require trigger warnings for all the stuff here and more. Almost anything that usually needs a trigger warning is in those books. I'm okay with reading it, but I also completely understand others not liking that shit.

In the positives, it's an extremely interesting and complex series dealing with survival, discrimination, identity, the pain that can come with love, and the unlikely bonds formed between people. The world building is amazing and the magic system is super cool. What I love the most are the characters, who are all very interesting and complex. No one is 100% good or evil, they're just people trying to find ways to achieve their goals or simply live. What actions they take are up for moral debate, but a lot of the time they're at least understandable. There's a lot of period typical bigotry, and it's much more vicious than what I wrote here, but what I love is that there a lot of diverse characters who say "fuck that" and fight back against the shit they get. You've got queer, Indigenous, black, latinx, Chinese, and Jewish main characters in a wild west story who are all well rounded and interesting. That's pretty awesome imo.

Okay enough gushing about Hexslinger lol. Hope this story was good. No guarantee when my next fic will be out. Work and school are killer. Until then, see you later!

[imtheasssniffer]

Nothing New

You opened the door weakly. After a long day of work, you were exhausted. As you walked into your home, you took your shoes off, and put your bag down on the table near the entrance. You then shuffled through the living room into the kitchen. Your husband was sitting in his favorite chair watching a Barcelona soccer match on, they were competing against Mexico.

“Hey babe, there’s some fajitas left over from earlier I just had some, they were pretty good if I do say so myself,” He called out to you.

“I’m sure they are if you made them, thanks babe!” You replied. Joe was a beautiful cook. His food was superb.

You devoured your fajitas, ravenous from your long day at work. They tasted a little funny, but you thought he was just experimenting with a new seasoning. Nothing weird. You walked into the living room and you stood in front of the television. He gave you an annoyed look. Wanting you to get out of the way so he could watch the game. Giving Joe your puppy dog eyes. His annoyed look slowly turned into a horny smirk, as he opened his legs for you to jump in.

You shuffled again in front of him. Then getting on your knees you stuffed your face into his fat cock.

“Ok, but nothing exciting until we win,” he said referencing the soccer match. You accepted that as you felt his calf’s pull your body closer to the chair. He then squeezed in his thick thighs. All you could do now was drown in his manliness.

PpFffFfftTt

He let out a small poot, and the hot air quickly rose into your nostrils. It smelled like shit, cheese and spice. Your eyes started to tear. And this was only a 2 second blast. You looked up at him confused. His farts didn’t normally smell this bad. When he finally made eye contact with you he said,

“I packed my fajitas con queso, when you told me you were staying late. I thought I’d give you a gift. You know what cheese does to my insides.” You inhaled loudly in retaliation. And he chuckled.

“It worked.” You both said almost in sync. He laughed, and as he did his thighs felt like they were going to crush your skull. Quickly squeezing and releasing as his diaphragm bounced.

“Well in that case,” he said as he proceeded to push your head into his balls. Simultaneously causing a loud moan to come out of him as his humongous, bull balls were stimulated.

PppPppppFfFfffFfffffRrrRttrTtt

“Looks like the cheese has kicked in,” he said, absent mindedly. This bubbly fart burnt your nostrils and made you dry heave a little. It’s smell was so potent and very strong. It’s smell made your dick pulsate. Not to mention this is one of the biggest farts you’d ever heard from him lasting 17 seconds. The fart tickled your face a little as you felt the air push valiantly from underneath his balls. Your eyes began to sting, but it would only get worse for you.

PppFffFffTtttRrrrRrBbbBbtT

He let out another monster that lasted 12 seconds and contaminated the air like nothing you had ever smelt from him before. He sighed loudly after releasing it and grabbed your head. Roughly shifting your nose underneath his balls. Pushing your forehead into his soft and plushy testicles.

“Better,” he mumbled. You smelt the remnants of the past farts in the chair fabric and their staleness somehow made them smell worse. After situating you’re face he raised his leg and put it on the back of your head further pushing you into him.

“Ahh, yess!” He moaned. Before,

PpphhRrrbbBbTtttrrrRrrTtttBbb

He released another spicy fart into your throat that was even more intense than the others. It flew into your nose in a deep and hard gust. Pushing its way into your lungs. You heard him grunt and,

RrrrRrBbbbBTttttTtTttttsssSs

His crotch began to get hot and sweaty as his thighs warmed up. Due to his monstrous farts. This 14 second fart came to a slow hiss, and it gushed out of his hole. Just when you thought this couldn’t get any better. He jumped and screamed.

“Ayyy, we won!” After jumping around a bit. He looked down at you. A sexy evil smirk appeared on his face, and you had no idea what he was about to do. Joe grabbed your hair and neck. With his big strong hands he rubbed your face into where his hole was. Making you soak up every leftover fart particle.

“Yeah take papi’s farts like the champ you are!” After saying this he grabbed you by the shoulders and flipped you around. So you were face up. He then also turned around. You could see that the crack of his white underwear had browned a little. Not to mention the wet spots in his ass, from where all the sweat pooled while he was watching the game. He started to lower his ass onto your face, and as his beautiful fat cheeks came towards your face. He began to rip a chunky fart. That smelt awful. You felt it continue as he rubbed your face into his musty ass. Until he eventually felt your nose in his asshole. The smell was intense. Greatly dramaticized since being outside of his ass.

“¿Tú quieres más peidos de papí en sua cada, sí?” You knew that when he spoke Spanish he was serious, but so were you.

“Sí,” you replied. Muffled by the amount of ass cheek that filled your mouth as you opened it.

“¿Pero, necesitas los peidos de su papí?”

“¡Sí!” You screamed into his ass.

“Fuck,” he moaned. He lifted his arm to rub his stomach and you heard sloshing in his intestines.

You heard Joe strain a little, and lean towards the right. Squishing part of your face more than it already was before.

BbBbbbRrrrrRppPpppTttttTtSss

This was officially the biggest fart you’d ever heard from Joe, it was 23 seconds. Your nose fell deeper into his hole as he ripped his fart. It felt like it had caught on fire. Baking inside Joes hot asshole, and assaulted by these spicy farts. The back of his underwear were now even more wet. From his sweat, and all the tears it had soaked from your eyes. By the end of this fart you cummed.

PppppPphhHhhRrrrrRrTtttss

He farted again this one only lasting 9 seconds, but ultimately smelling the worst because of how far up you were in his ass.

He eventually let out a loud sigh and got up slowly teasing you. Prolonging your time without fresh air. He turned around facing you. Almost slapping you with his bulge.

“Guess what? Babe.”

“Huh,” you replied.

“I farted on the fajitas... a lot.” This made you cum yourself again, knowing you had eaten tainted food from his rotten ass.

“Now it’s my turn,” he said pulling down his underwear and grabbing his dick.

[avaginanotaclowncar]

A Summary of Jed’s Podcast

So the topic of the Podcast was how to make a difference in politics. He doesn’t come in till the 18 minute mark though. 

Okay so there are 3 hosts, the main host (dubbed the rude host), the trivia host and the female host (I think her name was Ellie.) 

Ellie starts recapping political news from this passed week. They start by mentioning seesaws being passed through the New Mexico/Mexico border. She thinks this is an improvement over the “mixed messages about the border” that we heard in the past couple weeks. They also mention how both Democrats and Republicans agree on the new budget (which @alexistherealaly confirmed to me is somewhat true as they want to avoid another shutdown.)  

What kinda surprises me is that they start to criticize Trump. Trivia host says that he criticized Obama for spending too much so he has to criticize Trump too. Rude host kinda confused me because his tone made him sound like he disagreed, but his words made him sound like he agreed with Trivia host’s assessment. 

They then start going into a decently long rant about how we should educate ourselves about politics and history of politics. A positive from this rant: they seem to encourage bipartisan discussion and learning from “the other side.” A negative from this rant: they seem to suggest that anyone who supports liberal policies don’t know much about politics, political history, or what the founding fathers think about freedom. They also say that we lose our freedom when we give more power to the government. At one point the rude host says that he tells people to follow God when they ask him what they can do to get involved in politics. 

Jed finally shows up at 18:19. Also apparently Jed is a symbol of pop culture.

Interesting stuff Jed says: 

-He feels like he was born into politics because of his dad (but his dad is not a politician according to Jed)

-He started getting really involved in politics (door knocking and making phone calls) at 12/13.

-Jed helped Bob Ballinger run and was a secretary for him. (Bob Balinger’s son is Megan Forsyth [Austin’ sister]’s husband. Thanks @blessedladyplexus and @throwrocksatboys)

-Jed reaffirms that he is a Republican

-Jed thinks that beside voting the easiest way to be involved in politics is by talking to your representatives and asking how you can help

- “The local side is just as important as the U.S. side.” Jed

- “The side of abortion vs the pro-life side.” Jed

-He mentions school boards a lot. He apparently has a friend on the school board.

-Jed admits he’s not eloquent and was uncomfortable with door knocking and phone calling (for politics) at first.

After this they decide to “kidnap” Jed and play some games with him. This is the point where the rude host says, “We are pretty conservative I don’t think we can have fun.” And the trivia host responds, “Yeah we have to be like Mitch McConnell and never smile.” 

The premise of the game is that trivia host says a fortune and the other three have  to respond which politician they think it applies to. 

“You are never too old to learn.” “Bernie Sanders.” On Bernie Sanders the rude host said, “He’s got one foot in the grave and one foot on a banana field.”

“A person of words, not deeds, is like a garden full of weeds.” “Beto O’Rouke.” - Jed. Because it sounds like something eloquent Beto would say.

“An acquaintance of the past will affect you in the future.” “Joe Biden.”-female host. Because he was with Obama. None of them Obama will support Biden unless he wins the primaries. 

After this they do a weird law trivia that honestly wasn’t nearly as entertaining. The only interesting thing that comes out of it is Jed mentions his family has 7 fridges.

Overall thoughts: I liked everyone except for rude host. I thought they had some genuinely interesting ideas, even though I disagreed with a lot of what they said. I think every (except maybe rude host) would be willing to listen to opposing ideas and consider them. Jed’s personality didn’t really shine through at all and I feel like I learnt nothing new about him.

If you want to know my initial opinions or slightly more about the weird laws game go to my blog and search “freedomists podcast” because I live blogged it last night.

@spurgie-cousin here’s my summary.

[maddie-grove]

Bi-Monthly Reading Round-Up (July/August)

PLAYLIST

"Breakaway” by Kelly Clarkson (The Wonder)

“The Lusty Month of May” from Camelot (Between a Highlander and a Hard Place)

“Blood on My Name” by The Brothers Bright (Vampires in the Lemon Grove)

“Too Good at Goodbyes” by Sam Smith (A Prince on Paper)

“All I See Is You” by Dusty Springfield (The End of Everything)

“Your Song” by Elton John (Patience and Sarah)

“Reach Out and Touch (Somebody’s Hand)” by Diana Ross (Touchy Subjects)

“When You’re Young and in Love” by the Marvelettes (Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda)

“No Sleep Tonight” by the Faders (Can’t Escape Love)

“Take Me in Your Arms (Rock Me a Little While)” by Kim Weston (Bury Me Deep)

“Cold Bread” by Johnny Flynn (Fludd)

“Thunder Road” by Bruce Springsteen (The Rest of the Story)

“How Can I Meet Her?” by the Everly Brothers (Someone to Honor)

“A Matter of Trust” by Billy Joel (The Scandalous Secret of Abigail MacGregor)

BEST OF THE BI-MONTH

The Wonder by Emma Donoghue (2016): Lib Wright, an English nurse who worked with Florence Nightingale in the Crimean War, is hired to observe Anna O’Donnell, an eleven-year-old Irish girl who claims to have not eaten for four months. Initially exasperated at the everyone’s credulity, Lib gradually realizes that there’s a lot more going on with Anna, her family, and her village than she thought...and that the girl may be in serious danger if she doesn’t intervene. Despite my love of Donoghue’s work, I put off reading this one for a while because the subject looked so grim. Although Donoghue does deal with difficult material, the growing relationship between prickly Lib and bright-but-haunted Anna makes the novel transcendent.

WORST OF THE BI-MONTH

Between a Highlander and Hard Place by Mary Wine (2018): After her highborn suitor shows his true colors, Athena Trappes sets fire to his house in self-defense and flees to Scotland. There she attracts the attention of Symon, Laird Grant, a melancholy widower. This Elizabethan romance has its moments, notably a lovely meet-cute at a May Day celebration, but it’s mostly dull with some irritating tropes.

REST OF THE BI-MONTH

Vampires in the Lemon Grove by Karen Russell (2013): In this collection, Russell tells the stories of various oddities, including women who turn into silkworms, presidents who are reincarnated as horses, and, yes, vampires in the lemon grove. The collection is remarkably consistent, and Russell shows enormous range in it. My favorites are the utterly chilling prairie horror of “Proving Up,” the hilariously absurd “The Barn at the End of the Term,” and the heartbreaking “The Graveless Doll of Eric Mutis.”

A Prince on Paper by Alyssa Cole (2019): Nya Jerami has existed under a cloud of suspicion and gossip since her abusive father, an adviser to the king of Thesolo, was sent to prison for poisoning his political rivals. Eager to start her life properly but unsure how, Nya finds unexpected help from Johan van Braustein, the seemingly devil-may-care stepson of the king of a European micronation. This is my favorite contemporary romance I’ve ever read, with two dynamic, endearing protagonists and a strong sense of setting. Cole expertly blends realistic modern-day concerns with frothy wish fulfillment (plus a dash of fairy-tale Gothic).

The End of Everything by Megan Abbott (2011): When her best friend Evie disappears, thirteen-year-old Lizzie only has scanty clues regarding where or why. As she becomes more and more consumed with finding the answer, she discovers dark secrets underlying her seemingly placid 1980′s suburb. Of all the Abbott novels I’ve read, this is the simplest and perhaps the most disturbing. I didn’t love it, but it’s very effective.

Patience and Sarah by Isabel Miller (1969): In 1810′s Connecticut, educated “spinster” Patience White finds herself intrigued by sweet, rough-hewn Sarah Dowling. Although their families contrive to keep them apart, they eventually make it to New York and start a farm together. Of the five f/f romance novels I’ve read, this is my very favorite. Miller captures the feel of early American literature very well, and the romance has a nice balance of tension and sweetness.

Touchy Subjects by Emma Donoghue (2006): This collection of short stories is, naturally enough, organized around “touchy subjects” like babies, domesticity, strangers, desire, and death. There are some jewels in this collection: the sad/funny “WritOr” (about a struggling author who takes on a resident-writer position at a rural college), the bittersweet “The Welcome” (about a naive young lesbian with a crush on a reserved trans woman), and the strangely uplifting “Enchantment” (about a rivalry between Cajun fishermen). There’s a lot of chaff to separate from the wheat, though; many of the stories are very slight.

Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda by Becky Albertalli (2015): Simon Spier, an upper-middle-class teen in suburban Atlanta, isn’t 100% sure why he hasn’t come out as gay to his liberal family or friends, but for now he prefers to keep his sexuality (and a flirtatious email correspondence with an anonymous boy called Blue) under wraps. When a classmate finds out the truth and blackmails Simon into setting him up with his friend Abby, that task becomes a lot more complicated. Despite the rather disturbing premise, this is a super-cute YA novel that I would have loved when I was a YA. (At twenty-eight, I still liked it a lot; it’s just got a sense of immediacy that was a little lost on me thanks to my relatively advanced age, but would’ve been very appealing to me at sixteen.) 

Can’t Escape Love by Alyssa Cole (2019): Regina Hobbs, highly successful proprietor of a website about nerdy stuff, has it all together, except she’s suffering from a wicked case of insomnia. She’s convinced that only the voice of Gustave Nguyen, a puzzle designer she got to know after tuning into his livestream, can get her to sleep, so she contacts him to see if she can have a recording of his voice. Even though they both think it’s kind of weird, her request gets them talking...and MORE. This is a short but absolutely delightful novella about two neat people hooking up. The stakes are low, but the tensions stemming from Regina’s family keeps things interesting.

Bury Me Deep by Megan Abbott (2009): In the depths of the Great Depression, Marion Seeley finds herself alone in Phoenix while her morphine-addict husband chases redemption in Mexico. Working an administrative job at a local hospital, she falls in with party-girl nurse Louise, her TB-afflicted girlfriend Ginny, and (much to her sorrow) corrupt, handsome Joe Lanigan. Abbott’s historical crime novel takes a little while to heat up, but once it does it’s a very satisfying thriller. However, I was never convinced of Joe’s attractiveness even at a surface level, which was kind of an impediment to enjoying the story because Marion sure is.

Fludd by Hilary Mantel (1989): A mysterious stranger comes to a deeply Catholic, determinedly miserable English village in the 1950′s, claiming to be the new curate. While there, he greatly affects the lives of an alcoholic priest, his prim housekeeper, an unhappy young nun, and a pompous bishop. This is a highly peculiar, often enjoyable fable, although it drags quite a bit in the third quarter.

The Rest of the Story by Sarah Dessen (2019): Emma, an anxious seventeen-year-old who lost her mom to addiction five years ago, ends up spending part of the summer with her seldom-seen maternal relatives, who own a downscale motel in a lake town. While there, she learns about her mother’s secret history, observes the tensions between her family’s working-class community and the upscale resort people across the lake, has a low-key romance with a childhood friend, and practices her driving. This novel isn’t among Sarah Dessen’s best--the ending is a little rushed, and the romance feels perfunctory--but the setting is cool and Emma is an interesting protagonist.

Someone to Honor by Mary Balogh (2019): Years after her dad’s bigamy was revealed, resulting in her de-legitimization, reserved Abigail Westcott shows no interest in trying to re-enter society, instead opting to hang out with her convalescing Napoleonic War veteran brother. Unfortunately, his surly friend, Lieutenant Gilbert Bennington, is also intent on keeping her brother company to avoid his own problems, and he and Abigail don’t exactly get along. They come to understand each other, though, and decide to take a chance on marriage when Gilbert finds himself in trouble. I found this Regency romance to be solid but overly somber (not an infrequent issue with Balogh). I never got a great sense of who Abigail was and, while I sympathized with Gil, I also found him very irritating at times.

The Scandalous Secret of Abigail MacGregor by Paula Quinn (2015): In the late 1700′s, Queen Anne summons Davina MacGregor, secret eldest daughter of James II (and, were she not Catholic, rightful ruler of Great Britain), to court. Because Davina is sickly, her daughter Abigail, who has ambitions of being clan chieftain, goes to court in her place. She’s accompanied by Captain General Daniel Marlow, a Jacobite-hating English soldier and close friend of Anne’s. He’s got some trust issues and a stalker. This romance had a lot of potential, but too much of it is spent on the road and not enough on juicy court drama. The straight-version-of-Rachel-Weisz’s-character-in-The-Favorite villain was also, unfortunately, usurped by her much more boring lover.

[closetofanxiety]

50 Wrestling Questions: Why Not

Remember this? It’s been a while. Let’s do this again. Let’s twist again like we did last summer. Or the summer of 2017 in this case.

1. What got you into wrestling?

People ask me this all the time, and I don’t really have a good answer. I’ve liked it on and off since I was very young, and who knows why you like the stuff you like when you’re a little kid? 

2. What is your favorite wrestling promotion?

Of all time: ECW, even though I would probably think of it very differently if it were happening today. Currently: Beyond Wrestling. 

3. Favorite male wrestler of all time?

Gorgeous George, but if we’re talking about people who were alive when I was alive, Dusty Rhodes. I want to say Bruiser Brody, but in my heart I would know I was just saying that to look cool. 

4. Favorite female wrestler of all time?

Gail Kim. For the longest time, she was the only woman in a major global wrestling company who got over based on her wrestling ability. She was doing stuff in TNA that was years ahead of its time, and could adapt her style to get great matches with a variety of opponents with very different backgrounds. And she can still go, as she showed in the match against Tessa Blanchard the other night. I know it would be cooler to say Bull Nakano or Chigusa Nagayo or something, but I don’t know enough of their stuff to make that claim credible. I am who I am, a person who goes to the mall to buy shoes. 

5. Favorite current male wrestler?

Nick Gage

6. Favorite current female wrestler?

Momo Watanabe 

7. Favorite theme song?

Joey Janela’s music captures his vibe perfectly, and sounds great being blasted out of PA speakers inside a small bar or VFW hall. Of all time, probably, I don’t know, Honky Tonk Man? In an ironic way that slowly becomes sincere?

8. Least favorite theme song?

Ricochet’s WWE theme music is pretty dreadful. 

9. Favorite gimmick?

Currently: Orange Cassidy. All time: Road Warriors maybe? They were almost 100 percent gimmick, and they were the biggest tag team in the world at a great time for tag team wrestling. 

10. Least favorite gimmick?

All the racist and gay-hating gimmicks that have been used throughout the years are more or less equally horrible. If we’re talking about a terrible gimmick that was non-malignant, I’d say it was taking giant indestructible ass-kicker Mike Awesome and making him “That 70s Guy.” 

11. Best entrance (either their usual entrance or a special one, like a Wrestlemania entrance)?

Gorgeous George had the best entrance of all time, and it’s been copied ever since (Ric Flair’s entrance is basically Gorgeous George’s, scored with a different piece of classical music). The Sandman also had a great entrance. He was kind of all-entrance, now that I think of it. I also love those old shows in Japan where Brody would come out to “Immigrant Song” running through the crowd, swinging a fucking chain over his head like a lunatic. An entrance that makes you fear for your life: mission accomplished. 

12. Best Undertaker Wrestlemania match?

I am not the right person to ask for Undertaker superlatives, but the Lesnar match had a legitimately shocking conclusion that I still appreciate 

13. Most overrated?

I’m tempted to incur the wrath of the online by making a contrarian hot take selection like Ken Omega, but in reality it’s probably the Undertaker. 

14. Most underrated?

There are a million choices from before the 1980s, the Before Time of contemporary pro wrestling. Edouard Carpentier, say; he was having matches in 1970 that would not look out of place in 2019. Since the 1980s, I’d say Jerry Lynn is a very strong contender for most underrated. The popular choice would be Sid or Lex Luger, but I think they’re pretty much rated exactly as they should be. 

15. Have you ever been to an event? If so, which one?

I certainly have been to many pro wrestling events. I go to one or two a month. Like a lot of things, wrestling is pretty much always fun in person. It helps that the Northeast has a ton of good companies within easy driving distance. My favorite show of all time might be Americanrana 2016. 

16. Who has the best merch?

We’re in a weird period where people on Instagram are making better shirt designs (in insanely limited editions) than the vast majority of wrestlers or wrestling companies. I will say that Kris Wolf has yet to make an ugly or boring piece of merchandise, which is a huge complication in this day and age. 

17. Do you own any merch?

Nope! Wait, I mean, “yes, entirely too much.” Shirts, 8 x 10s, DVDs, magazines, random pieces like fancy enamel badges and a stack of Okada bucks. The one thing I’ve never gotten into is action figures, and that’s probably good for the ol’ bank balance. 

18. Best nickname?

"The American Dream” Dusty Rhodes is an all-time classic. 

19. Worst nickname?

"The Game” is a dumb nickname. “The Cerebral Assassin” is also a dumb nickname. Are assassins supposed to be stupid? I bet they’re typically very smart, although of low moral character. “Triple H” is his only good nickname, and even that sounds like the nickname of a guy who owns a car dealership out by the highway.

20. Best mic skills?

Nobody was ever better than Bobby Heenan, who had incredible range and versatility. He could do comedy and he could do menace. He could do calm and he could do spitting rage. He had an uncanny sense of timing and was quicker on his feet than almost anyone. No one really comes close at matching his astonishing depth, but Dusty Rhodes was an all-time great promo. He really made you care about wrestling matches, which is not an easy thing to do.

21. Most annoying?

I mean, it has to be Vince McMahon. 

22. Most attractive male?

Is Tanahashi too obvious a choice? Best hair in wrestling. It’s incredible and luxurious, like an untamed mountain stream. Andrade “Cien” Almas or whatever they’ve shortened his name to (”And”) is a handsome man. Killer Kross: very handsome. We live in a golden age of attractive wrestlers. Just look back at the gassed-up Zubaz mastodons of the 1980s, or the territories-era guys who all looked like they were 48 years old and had pot bellies. You almost have to try to find unattractive wrestlers. Nick Gage, for instance. But I’m sure even he has his swooning admirers. 

23. Most attractive female?

Again, what a time for attractive wrestlers. It may be shallow, but wrestling is a business that’s at least partially cosmetic. Attractive people sell tickets. I would, and have, bought a ticket to see Hana Kimura. 

24. Favorite faction?

Of all time? Probably the Barry Windham-era Four Horsemen. More recently, Team Pazuzu. 

25. Worst faction?

BULLET CLUB. No, it’s not the Bullet Club, as exhausted as they’ve become. It’s probably the nWo after early 1998 or so, when they had like 60 members and dragged down every storyline. 

26. Best ring gear?

Su Yung and Pentagon Jr. 

27. Who do you think would be the nicest in real life?

I bet Jerry Lynn is a good guy to know. People in wrestling universally praise Little Guido, which is very rare. The Young Bucks seem like they might be decent dudes. Willow Nightingale told a story on a podcast about Nick Gage excitedly playing with Solo Darling’s dog backstage, so you never know. 

28. Who would be the rudest in real life?

On the indie level, it’s probably someone who doesn’t work very much. Above the indie level, I bet some of those British guys are secretly horrible, like Jimmy Havoc. 

29. Favorite heel?

Currently it’s a tie between MJF and Alisha Edwards, two of the only people who can regularly get indie crowds to boo them. Of all time, heel Flair was hard to beat. 

30. Most hardcore?

It’s definitely either a guy in Japan or a guy in Mexico, and he’s definitely been burned by explosive charges multiple times. Onita? It’s probably Onita. Or Jun Kasai? I think Onita has probably been exploded more times than Jun Kasai. 

31. A wrestler you could beat?

At wrestling? Not a single one of them. Nicholas, the small boy who won the WWE tag team championship with Braun Strowman, would wipe the floor with me. Even the most callow bodybuilder-turned-wrestler would not break a sweat beating me senseless. But writing talking points for senior administration officials in preparation for legislative testimony? Now you’re on my turf. Not so tough now, huh, Nicholas? 

32. Best story line?

Freebirds vs. Von Erichs or Stone Cold vs. Vince. My heart says the former, my head says the latter. 

33. Biggest missed opportunity for a story line?

The WWE blowing the invasion angle after purchasing WCW is the obvious one. More recently, they blew it by not turning Reigns heel. 

34. Worst story line?

Ha, so many of them. Impossible to choose just one. At least most of the dumb embarrassing Russo ones in WCW and TNA were basically harmless, like the time Samoa Joe got kidnapped by ninjas. The Chuck and Billy wedding thing was far worse. A low point even by Vince’s impressively cretinous standards.

35. Which wrestler should turn heel?

I’d like to see a Jordynne Grace heel run in Impact. Heel Finn Balor would also be good. 

36. Which wrestler should turn face?

Samoa Joe has a good fiery babyface, “I’m tired of doing your dirty work, McMahon!” run in him. 

37. Who would be the worst to room with?

Can you imagine sharing a living space with Enzo Amore? Or the thicket of twee Disney merchandise you’d have to negotiate every day if you lived with Johnny Gargano?

38. Who would be the best to room with?

I bet Eddie Edwards would be a surprisingly thoughtful roommate, like he’d always do the dishes “because I love doing them!,” that kind of thing. I have nothing to base this suspicion on, he just seems like my old roommate, Shane, who was like that. 

39. Who would be your best friend if you were a wrestler?

I’d like to say Jushin Thunder Liger, and posit that we would go on exciting adventures, but the answer is probably something like “Comp Time” Terry Dandridge, who wrestles monthly for 2Xtreme All-Pro Wrestling Alliance out of Euphoria, Kansas and has a 9 to 5 as a hardware store manager. 

40. What would your job be in a wrestling promotion?

I’d normally make a self-effacing joke here, but I do social media training at my real job, and so many wrestlers are badly in need of help in this area. 

41. Favorite wrestling podcast/Youtube channel?

I like AIW’s “The Card is Going to Change” podcast a lot, and there’s one by the owners of RevPro that’s pretty good. It’s hard to find a well-produced wrestling podcast that talks about independent wrestling. My favorite wrestling YouTube channel is OSW Review. 

42. Favorite finisher?

BURNING HAMMER

43. Least favorite finisher?

The Bayley-to-belly suplex. HOW IS THIS A FINISHING MOVE

44. Favorite match?

Kerry Von Erich vs. Jerry Lawler at Superclash III. It was a bloody, weird, engrossing spectacle, and it was the symbolic end of the territories era. 

45. Favorite PPV?

Royal Rumble is the last PPV my casual fan friends reliably want to see, and with good reason: it’s engrossing.

46. Guilty pleasure wrestler?

Big Banter Baron Corbin, but I feel no guilt here. He rules. 

47. Favorite submission?

THE KATA HA JIME, otherwise known as the Tazmission.

48. Most entertaining to watch?

All time? Randy Savage. Currently? Io Shirai. 

49. Best spot?

Anyone spitting mist into the unsuspecting eyes of their foes

50. Who do you most respect?

I respect you, booker man.

[thesportssoundoff]

“A Brief Return Back To FS1 On ESPN+” UFC Nashville Fight Preview

(So head up off the jump, I'm traveling to a convention deal gimmick on Friday and rolling back in on Saturday afternoon-ish so chances are I might miss this card even with the app. Either way I'm sure dudes around here will be able to provide the same consistent top flight analysis they always do without me agitating them)

Joey

March 22nd

I feel like we've officially reached our throwback portion of the program.  The first few UFC on ESPN+ events have been either really good (Brazil, the most recent one from the UK) or quick and violent enough (Wichita and Prague) to where everything still feels fresh and fun. I don't know if I'd call it a Honeymoon period or just a better understanding of how to broadcast MMA but either way, there hasn't really been a BAD UFC card. This one might be the first throwback to the days of yore. I'm talking about something that feels worse than bad; an inconsequential card where nothing matters and nobody goes anywhere. The show is headlined by a meaningless striker vs striker fight that some folks on the interwebs drummed up as a pseudo dream fight with Showtime Pettis vs Stephen Thompson getting top billing. The co-main event is a genuinely intriguing battle between HWs with Curtis Blaydes taking on Justin Willis and while a great third bout with Nasrat Haqparast vs John Makdessi was scheduled, it got scrapped due to injuries. Now Makdessi vs Peru's Jesus Pinedo is your third fight with Deveison Figueredo vs Jussier Formiga as the fourth support. The rest is a bunch of a blegh but we'll find some good stuff.

Fights: 12

Debuts: Ryan Macdonald, Jordan Espinosa

Fight Changes/Injury Cancellations: 3 (John Makdessi vs Nasrat Haqparast CANCELLED/Jesus Pinedo vs Chris Gruetzmacher CANCELLED/Martin Day OUT, Ryan Macdonald IN vs Chris Gutierrez)

Headliners (fighters who have either main evented or co-main evented shows in the UFC): 4 (Anthony Pettis, Stephen Thompson, Curtis Blaydes, Randa Markos)

Fighters On Losing Streaks in the UFC:

Fighters On Winning Streaks in the UFC: 7 (Deveison Figueredo, Jussier Formiga, Justin Willis, JJ Aldrich, Marlon Vera, John Makdessi, Frankie Saenz)

Main Card Record Since Jan 1st 2017 (in the UFC): 30-8

Anthony Pettis- 2-2 Stephen Thompson- 1-2 Curtis Blaydes- 4-1 Justin Willis- 4-0 Jussier Formiga- 3-1 Deveison Figueredo- 4-0 Jesus Pinedo- 1-0 John Makdessi- 2-0 Luis Pena- 1-1 Steven Peterson- 1-1 Maycee Barber- 1-0 JJ Aldrich- 3-0

Fights By Weight Class (yearly number here):

Women’s Flyweight- 2 (10) Flyweight- 2 (6) Bantamweight- 2 (15) Featherweight- 2 (13) Lightweight-  1 (16) Welterweight- 1 (19) Heavyweight- 1 (8) Women’s Strawweight- 1 (7)

Middleweight-  (7) Light Heavyweight- (10) Women’s Bantamweight- (2)

2019’s Records We Keepin Track Of:

Debuting Fighters (7-14): Ryan Macdonald, Jordan Espinosa

Short Notice Fighters (6-6): Ryan Macdonald

Second Fight (18-5): Chris Gutierrez, Bobby Moffett, Bryce Mitchell, Maycee Barber

Cage Corrosion (Fighters who have not fought within a year of the date of the fight) (7-11):

Undefeated Fighters (8-9): Maycee Barber, Deveison Figueredo, Ryan MacDonald, Bryce Mitchell

Fighters with at least four fights in the UFC with 0 wins over competition still in the organization (5-5):

Weight Class Jumpers (Fighters competing outside of the weight class of their last fight even if they’re returning BACK to their “normal weight class”) (7-5): Maycee Barber, Luis Pena, Anthony Pettis, JJ Aldrich

Twelve Precarious Ponderings

1- Who thought this main event was a good idea and why? This has good idea on paper but bad idea in reality draped all over it which makes it hard to stomach as a big fight. It sort of feels like that Urijah Faber vs Frankie Edgar fight except we knew that Faber was successful at 145 lbs so even if it was farcical, we had something to hang our hats on for some intrigue. Wonderboy vs Anthony Pettis doesn't even have THAT going for it since Pettis has never been a successful competitor at 170 lbs IF he's even taken a fight at 170 lbs. If this was some test run 165 lb catchweight bout I'd be intrigued by it but this just feels like a dumb idea on paper that's going to be borderline egregious upon execution.

2- The genesis of this fight is apparently based upon Duke Roufus claiming to have some kind of a strategy to help Anthony beat Wonderboy. What pray tell is that strategy.

3- I wonder if Thompson would've taken this fight if he could've predicted that Till would lose to Masvidal and Usman would beat Woodley. The path to a title shot is so much easier to sneak in now with both out of the picture but Thompson is fighting a monumentally inconsequential fight at the top of the bill of this show. Now granted according to Wonderboy this was SUPPOSED to be Ponzinibbio but Ponz didn't take the fight. Either way, this fight does little to advance his title shot agenda.

4- Does the UFC have a rooting favorite in Blaydes vs Willis? Is this the one genuinely good HW fight nobody cares about?

5- If there was a genuine reason to tune into this show besides "It's UFC!" and "Wonderboy vs Showtime might be weirdly cool!", it's a quartet of superb prospects all on this card worthy of your time. We can begin with Deiveson Figueiredo who has emerged as probably the top up and coming 125er in a dying division. It was rumored that the UFC offered a move up to 135 lbs for Figueiredo who opted instead to keep on kickin' at what remains at flyweight. Joe Benavidez is believed to be the #1 contender (if such a claim can even exist) but the FRESHEST fight for Henry Cejudo is Figueiredo. After that you have Luis "The Violent Bob Ross" Pena who is making the move down to featherweight for some reason after coming short vs Mike Trizano in his last fight. Pena is a really talented fighter who lacks the sort of middle ground in his fight game to deal with strong fighters who can go point A to point B in a gameplan and so the UFC recognized this and gave him a much smaller brawler type in Steven Peterson. That's a fine example of knowing a prospect. Maycee Barber is really young, ultra talented and one of the few bonafide fight finishers at flyweight so expect her to move quick. Lastly, the division may be going away but Jordan Espinosa is a really intriguing fluky record kind of guy (12-5) who has some Jon Dodson in his game. He kicks off the show vs similarly marked prospect Eric Shelton.

6- Is Angela Hill still a thing or has she settled in as a "fun" middle of the pack 115 lber now?

7- Bobby Moffett vs Bryce Mitchell is a weird fight to get a grasp on since both guys have somewhat controversial wins and neither are standout athletes. I can see this being a very fun squirrely fight. It's also worth remembering Bryce Mitchell tore a hole in his ballbag with a power tool and is somehow still competing so god speed to my dude.

8- Is Jussier Formiga the most credentialed "little" fighter (let's say 145 and below) to never get a title shot?

9- CHITO VERA! Marlon Vera returns after smelting Guido Cannetti in his backyard of Argentina to take on Frankie Saenz here in Tennessee. Really like this fight for both guys as Chito has gotten back into a groove after losses to John Lineker (in a fight he did far better than expected) and Douglas Andrade with wins over other dudes at the back end of 135 lbs. Marlon falls into that comfortable resting area between "just a solid action fighter" and "sneaky good" guy and a win over Frankie Saenz could go a long way towards creeping further and further up the latter category.

10- Peru's Jesus Pinedo gets a really tough late notice call up in John Makdessi but there are some avenues he can win this fight. Like most fighters from places like Mexico, Peru, Argentina and so on, they fight with a reckless abandon that comes from raw athletic traits with a lack of high level fight experience. We've seen Makdessi struggle against guys who fight similarly to that and while Makdessi is in the midst of a career renaissance of sorts, he's still a guy who at times needs space and pace to really get going. If it turns ugly and Pinedo can avoid being flattened, he might have a shot.

11- Will anyone from the Chris Guiterrez and Ryan MacDonald fight be in the UFC a year from now?

12- Alexis Davis vs Jennifer Maia has potential to be an all time clunker.

[letsdothistom]

Air Guitar and 85 MPH!

I was going to spend my second “blog” discussing pretentiousness in Santa Fe or New Mexican food and green chile in general.  But since I came up with something a little more fun, I guess I’ll save the talk about ordering water in a bowl and drinking it with a spoon for a different time.  On my drive back to Oklahoma I thought of a topic that always shows its face when I’m on a road trip.   I often forget about it until the next time I’m in the car or just don’t put much thought into it once I’ve opened the car doors and let the dog out to deal with his pent up energy as I unload the car.  Not to mention the obligatory hour I have to spend re-aquainting myself to the cat, who is certain that I have disappeared forever this time.

The topic that came to me is road trip songs.  

I love road trips.  You may think I’m crazy but settling into the driver seat, snacks on the passenger seat,  the basset hound panting in my face, his front feet on the console, anticipating our newest adventure, is the best.  Within a pretty short time, he tends to realize that this is just another day-long roady and roughs up his blanket in the backseat and settles in for the ride. Giving me weird basset hound glances in the mirror.  Not sure if it’s the music or he just wants some pork rinds.

Now these road trips of mine usually arent extravagant or exotic.  Unless you consider driving state highways through Kansas, Oklahoma, Wyoming or any other of the fly-over states I tend to travel as being exotic. (Personally I’d choose these drives over just about any other you could propose to me).  The great thing about these road trips, aside from seeing so many wonderful historically relevant places (as well as plenty of non-relevant places), and feeling a oneness with wide open spaces, is the time you get to yourself to hone your listening skills.  

Those of you that know me, know that I have many preferences when it comes to music.  As Cheech says in Up In Smoke, “we play everything from El Chicano to Santana”.  I love it all.  Some more than others, but I probably have a song or two from every type of playlist or genre that you can think of.  Add to that the fact that if there is a specific location I’m aiming my car to (often there is not), I will jam songs from or about that location.  For instance, while driving the empty roads of New Mexico it will be Ennio Morricone and The Good, The Bad and the Ugly soundtrack.  Wyoming is of course Chris LeDoux country.  On my way to Kansas City to eat BBQ, it’s Joe Williams singing “Kansas City” or Charlie Parker and K.C. Blues.  Memphis is Sister Rosetta Tharpe (you can keep Elvis, I am not a fan.  Yeah, I said it).  West Texas?  Marty Robbins Gunfighter Ballads, of course!  Down south, it’s Big Maybelle, Lightnin’ Hopkins and Muddy Waters.  You get the idea.  It may seem strange but there is something that touches my soul in listening to those songs that are native to an area.  Whether or not I actually do learn anything, it feels as though I have.

With that weird little eccentricity out of the way, let me add that of course there are some staples of any road trip, for me at least.  These are songs, albums and artists that I listen to, to fill in all the  empty spaces of those relatively uneventful miles, musically or otherwise.  Maybe it’s Def Leppard or ACDC or Beyonce or Ariana Grande for you.  For me these are easy.  I can not even begin to guess how many miles have been eaten up by Merle Haggard, or The Count Basie Orchestra.  I am not scared of extreme opposites.  Hundreds upon thousands upon tens of thousands of miles have been chewed up by these two musical groups, and yes, I’m aware that I am probably the only person living who can claim that.

The millennials reading this will have no idea about this next category.  There use to be these things called albums.  Albums were a group of songs, recorded (usually around the same time), and released as a unit to the masses.  These units were sold as vinyl records, cassette tapes, 8-tracks, or CDs.  Those of us a little older can attest that 90 percent of these albums had 2-4 songs that we liked and a bunch of other average or barely tolerable songs that you listened to whether you liked them or not (if you didn’t have control of the radio in the car).  Sometimes, you even grew to enjoy a few of those songs.  On rare occasions though, you found an entire album, yes the whole thing! that you enjoyed.   For all of us oldies, these albums are near and dear to our hearts.  They vary from person to person, but these are a few I can put on and just let them play, enjoying almost every song:  Van Halen-1984, Blood Sweat and Tears-Greatest hits, Nirvana-Nevermind, George Strait-Strait From The Heart, Muddy “Mississippi” Waters-Live, Art Blakey-Moanin’,  U2-Joshua Tree, Miles Davis-Kind of Blue, Steve Miller Band-Greatest Hits 74-78, IceT-Greatest Hits to name a few of my favorites.

All of these categories are important to a good road trip.  You must have a combination of all of them.  Yeah, I know, all of you XM/Sirius users are claiming that you don’t need any of them.  You got genres on every channel, and all you ever need with all those fancy channels.  To those of you in that camp, I say “HOGWASH!”  Why Hogwash?  Well no matter how specific these channels are, or how much you enjoy the carefree toggling between your favorite genres, no road trip is complete without those irreplaceable, epic, nostalgic songs that nearly blow out your speakers and get your ears ringing whenever you choose to rock them.  And how the hell are you supposed to play these favorites 2, 3, 10 times in a row with your XM radio?!  You can’t. So without further palaver, I’m gonna lay my favorites out and would love to hear some of yours.  

Rich’s top 20 Road Trip Jams (if you have any sense, you will build this playlist!-yeah I know it’s not gonna float everyone’s boat but if nothing else, listen to it, you might find some music that you don’t normally dig.)  And for the record, none of these songs ever get bumped off the list, new ones just get added to it occasionally.  As weird as it may be, here is my list:

Honorable Mentions.  These songs get me thinking about all the great road trip songs and my musical wheels start turning.  It’s on when I hear any of these songs.

Runnin on Empty-Jackson Browne, Hello Walls-Faron Young, Blues in Hoss Flat-Count Basie, Night In Tunisia-Ella Fitzgerald, Gimme All Your Love-Alabama Shakes, Miles and Miles of Texas-Asleep at the Wheel, China Grove-Doobie Brothers, Come Down-Anderson Paak, Crosstown Traffic-Jimi Hendrix, El Paso-Marty Robbins, Ida Red-Bob Wills and Sunshine of Your Love-Cream.  Those get me started but here is when it gets real.

20-16  These are like the kindling for me.  Getting the fire lit, and starting my descent into the next hour of driving, without really remembering the road I’ve just driven or the scenes outside the window.  

20)  Suavecito-Malo   Ok, Ok, it wouldn’t seem like a fire starter, but...

19)  Magic Man-Heart This one should get your blood flowing

18)  Keep on Rockin’ Me-Steve Miller The best roady to choose from SMB

17)  Watermelon Man-Herbie Hancock You might not have soul if you don’t love this

16)  When My Train Pulls In- Gary Clark JR Great Long Jam.  incredible guitar riffs

11-15  These are a small step up, adding logs to my fire

15)  Me and Mrs. Jones-Billy Paul So there’s always a song that you love to sing while you are alone in your car, and you think you sing it just as well as the artist

14)  Stairway to Heaven-Led Zeppelin Ok so of course I have it, but this is a really, really great song no matter how many times it is played.

13)  Ev’ryday I have the Blues-Count Basie and Joe Williams The definition of a foot stomper.

12)  Luckenbach, TX-Waylon and Willie One of the best country songs translates to a great road song.

11)  The Story- Brandi Carlisle Not a song liable to be on many lists, road trip or not.  My sister introduced me to this years and years ago and it barely misses the top 10

6-10  Ok, we are really cookin with gas now.  These are legendary roadies in my book.  The dog gives me a look, here we go again.

10)  Rooster-Alice In Chains Gets my grunge on.  I love everything about this song.  Probably one of the biggest contributors to hearing loss in my right ear.

9)   Six Days on the Road-Dave Duncan All those over-the-road truckers can’t be wrong, this is the best of all truckin’ songs.

8)   Tonight The Bottle Let Me Down-Merle Haggard   My favorite country singer and a whole lot of my favorite country music instrument, the steel guitar.  Damn I love this song

7)   Ticket To Ride-Beatles There are tons of Beatles songs to choose from and this isn’t my favorite, but it is my favorite on the road

6)   867-5309-Tommy Tutone This is my favorite 80s song.  And when I hear that guitar riff at the beginning...Jenny, Jenny who can I turn to?

2-5  These are huge, the fire is roaring and I have no concerns as to what is going on at this point.  I’ll be singing, playing drums, air guitar.  The dog has now tried to cover his ears due to the volume.

5)   Jamie’s Cryin-Van Halen Im not sure why, because there are tons of Van Halen songs to choose from, but for whatever reason, this one is my favorite while on the road

4)   North To Alaska-Johnny Horton   Ok, another one you may not expect at all but damn this is a fun song.  I physically can’t help whaling “big nuggets they’re finding” every time!

3)   Pink Houses-John Cougar Mellencamp    Im not a globalist. ‘Murica!!

2)   Sweet Child of Mine-Guns and Roses    This should be on everyones list. Road songs or any other.  Simply one of the best songs ever.  

Number 1!!!

So all the previous songs are great.  I love them all, and many, many more.  This is an elaborate list for me.  If you know me, you know I love lists, and don’t make them without deep thought.  But Ironically, the battle for the top spot isn’t even close.  I LOVE Sweet Child of Mine, and Pink Houses.  I might play them 2 or 3 times in a row, but the battle for number one isn’t much of a battle.  Not because these others arent great but because number one is so unbelievably spectacular in the car.  I can’t help singing to it, playing air guitar, drum solo in my car, volume literally turned up 3 or 4 times during the song, ears ringing and can’t even hear myself singing, and just when you don’t think it could be any better, it gets better!!!  There are times I may play this song 5, 6 times in a row if things are cookin.  I can barely keep the needle under 85 mph! The number one song for the road is:

1)  More Than A Feeling- Boston  I really built it up, and with good reason. Rock ballad, guitar anthem, unbelievable vocals, harmony soft, loud, louder, high, higher, drums...what else can I say?  This is simply the best road trip song ever!!

Ok, that’s it.  Maybe it was anti-climatic for you, but I got jazzed just listing the songs.  I may go take a drive just to hear the playlist!  I’d love to hear everyone else’s playlist that they take on every trip.  Maybe I’m missing some good road trip songs!  

I hope the dog never figures out how to jump out of the car while it’s moving.

[meterteller4-blog]

Those Who Care and Those Who Don’t: Children and Racism in the Trump Era

DECEMBER 14, 2018

This piece appears in the latest issue of the LARB Print Quarterly Journal: No. 20  Childhood

To receive the LARB Quarterly Journal, become a member  or purchase a copy at your local bookstore.

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“Trump does some bad things,” 10-year-old Kenny tells me one afternoon. I’m sitting across from him at a coffee shop in a small town in Mississippi. Kenny is black and loves soccer. As he talks, he anxiously spins a pen cap on the table between us. “Trump talks about racist things … and he does racist things! He puts inappropriate things on Twitter. Like, people won’t admit it but saying, ‘I’m going to build a wall from Mexico,’ and saying bad things about Mexicans is racist and [people] won’t admit it!” Kenny pauses, looks down to the ground, and shakes his head with disbelief. “To me, that’s something.”

Kenny is just one of the millions of children growing up in the United States under the Trump administration. And he, like many of these children, is experiencing a shocking moment in American history. These are young people who have otherwise been taught that America is making progress when it comes to issues like racism and sexism. Their childhoods unfolded during the “post-racial” era of President Obama; their television programs celebrate multiculturalism and diversity; their T-shirts have girl-empowerment slogans; their schools conduct anti-bullying and inclusion campaigns. For the youngest generations in the United States, racial progress was the common narrative across the political spectrum. This changed during the 2016 presidential election, which marked a drastic turning point in this narrative. Things were suddenly different, and the election of Donald Trump deeply complicated how many children in America understand their country.

As many people have pointed out, Trump began his political career by propagating a racist conspiracy against President Obama. Sociologist Matthew W. Hughey argued that the effect of “Birther” movement was in fact twofold: it stoked white fear of a black man in power and encouraged fantasies of a white ethno-state as a remedy for those fears. Trump perhaps noticed its effectiveness. He went on to use explicitly racist rhetoric and antisemitic dog whistles in his presidential campaign ads. Even after taking office, Trump has continued to stoke racial division and white fear. He has used racist, derogatory language to refer to Mexicans, Muslims, and entire nations in Africa and the Caribbean. He has insulted a long list of black celebrities, politicians, and athletes. And his rhetoric is also backed up by action. Within its first year, the Trump administration advanced a ban on Muslim people and refugees entering the country; it has more recently enforced family separation at the border, taking children from their parents and putting them in cages; Trump has pardoned former Arizona sheriff Joe Arpaio, a man with a long history of racial discrimination. Trump also famously refused to denounce white supremacists after their racist and antisemitic rallying and violence in Charlottesville. His racist rhetoric has only escalated in the run up to the midterm elections.

In October 2017, political scientist Cathy J. Cohen and her colleagues at the University of Chicago reported findings from their GenForward Survey of Millennial Attitudes on Race in the U.S. They found that across all racial groups, Americans between the ages of 18 and 34 believe that racism is one of the three most important problems in the United States today and that this problem is getting worse (Cohen, Fowler, Medenica, & Rogowski, 2017). However, nearly half of the white young adults in this research believed that “discrimination against whites has become as big a problem as discrimination against Blacks and other minorities.” Across all racial groups, very few young people thought racial relations were improving in the United States, and when asked if they believed Trump is a racist, 82 percent of African-American respondents, 78 percent of Latinx respondents, and 74 percent of Asian-American respondents said they did. White respondents were split almost exactly down the middle: 51 percent believed he is racist while 48 percent disagreed.

My conversation with Kenny was part of my ongoing research with youth and racism in the United States. My work as a sociologist focuses on racial socialization — I study how children learn about race and racism in the context of their families, communities, and everyday lives. Part of my work involves speaking with children directly about their experiences and perspectives of the social world. I knew from my previous research that for many white children who grew up in the Obama era, they believed that racism was “no longer a problem in America.” In many ways, it made sense for these children to feel this way. Although the United States has a long history of racism and white supremacy, in more recent years, social scientists have found that racism at the individual level has not disappeared but, rather, is expressed in more subtle and implicit ways. The circumstances, however, have clearly changed, and these same children are now confronted with explicit and overt forms of racism in the public sphere. I wanted to know what young people, particularly children in middle school, are thinking about racism in the new Trump era. What are their views on this matter? How are they feeling? What do they have to say?

Over the past year, a team of graduate students and I interviewed children between the ages of 10 and 13 in two distinct geographic locations: Mississippi and Massachusetts. We asked them a range of questions about current events, their schools and families, and their reaction to Trump’s words and actions as president. After interviewing more than 50 children, we found that children of color in both states expressed a great deal of anxiety, stress, fear, and anger about the present moment. The white children’s responses, however, surprised me. For many, their acknowledgment of Trump’s explicitly racist words and actions seemed to mark a rearrangement of empathy, and a rearrangement of how they thought about racism — and, perhaps more importantly, how much they cared.

¤

One day after school in Mississippi, I talk with 10-year-old Crystal, who describes herself as “African American and mixed.” Crystal tells me what she remembers from the night of the 2016 presidential election. “We were very scared the night before…When I was sleeping, I did have a bad dream so I think I could kind of tell that it wasn’t going to end up as I expected.”

“What happened the next day at school?” I ask. She brings up race right away.

“Some black boys and girls were saying that that, like, they really didn’t want Trump to win or that he had won and [that they] didn’t really like him. And then some people who did vote for Trump were like, ‘I’m so happy!’ and they told their friends who also voted for Trump. … It was like allll day.”

I ask her if the kids who supported Trump were black.

Crystal replies immediately: “No. They were all white.” For Crystal, the connection between whiteness and support for Trump is clear.

At the coffee shop, Kenny has similar ideas: “When Barack Obama was the president, I wasn’t thinking about politics,” Kenny explains. “I didn’t really talk about Barack Obama because there’s nothing to talk about! He didn’t do anything bad. He didn’t start anything. So I mean, when he was president, I didn’t get into politics because I didn’t have to. Because he was a good president.”

Later in our interview, I ask Kenny, “What do you think is a big problem in America?”

“Racism is one of the main things that this country has always had problems with. And I’m scared Trump will make that worse,” he adds.

In Massachusetts, children of color express similar fears and anxieties about this moment of reemerging racial animosity. Mariana is 10 years old and identifies as “Mexican-American and white.” She and I sit together talking in a small classroom at her afterschool program.

“Do you think Trump is doing a good job or a bad job leading our country” I ask Mariana.

“I don’t like Donald Trump!” she shouts as she slaps her hand on the desk. “He is terrible! I want Obama to come back. Obama is a better president. In my head, I’m like, Trump is going to get us all bombed. Like, after he won the election, at school, everyonewas like screaming, ‘Ahhhh!’ People were running around and then someone started crying and said, ‘I want Obama to come back!’” Mariana goes on to tell me how “Trump is racist” and a “bad president.”

I also talk with 11-year-old Dominick who identifies as “black and Cape Verdean.” “I have heard him say something bad about black people,” Dominick tells me. “Donald Trump shouldn’t build the wall. … It’s just weird and just like, you’re making fun of a certain region because they like look different? Really?”

I ask him how he feels when the president says bad things about black people.

“I feel like if the president says something racist, I think that they shouldn’t be the president,” he replies.

I hear this opinion echoed in Massachusetts, over and over again. Suzannah tells me that she thinks Trump is “very racist” and that “we need someone [who is] both of our colors so they can be more fair ’cause he only likes really the whiter people.”

Devion, an 11-year-old black boy, responds so quickly I can barely finish asking the question. “He’s said stuff about Mexico, and he’s basically just racial-profiling people! … And people have been joining him! I’ve heard some things on the news and what he says isn’t right!”

I ask him how he felt the day after the election.

“I felt just sad for America. … I was very surprised.” He goes on to tell me about white kids chanting, “Build a wall,” and harassing Latinx kids at his school.

“I honestly think that it’s crazy that kids would say that. I’ve had, um, a kid in my class that I was just fully ashamed by that kid ’cause he was saying some racist stuff [after Trump won] and that was the kid that has [previously] said racist stuff to me.” Devion tells me that he absolutely thinks the election of Trump has emboldened the already-racist bullies at his school.

These conversations reveal that these particular children of color are deeply affected by the state of the country and the larger events and conversations happening around them. My findings are reinforced by a recent survey conducted with teachers by the Southern Poverty Law Center (SPLC). This survey, held in the immediate aftermath of the 2016 presidential election, described what the Center referred to as the “Trump Effect. “The report found that more than two-thirds of teachers noted increased anxiety on the behalf of students of color, immigrant students, Muslim students, and LGBTQ students. The report also found that 90 percent of teachers surveyed indicated that their school climate had been negatively affected by the political campaign and election of Donald Trump. This was also reflected in the news: during the past two years, headlines from across the nation have described instances of white youth engaging in forms of racial violence and other forms of harassment — chanting “Build the wall!” in the faces of Latinx kids at athletic competitions or in the school cafeteria, bringing Confederate flags into classrooms to taunt their black peers, sexually assaulting and “grabbing” girls, inflicting physical violence such as pulling hijabs off Muslim students, and so on (SPLC Hatewatch, 2016).

White children are also thinking and engaging in the current political moment, of course, though our conversations are notably different. With white children, I notice a profound divide between how much some children seem to care about Trump’s racist words and actions and how much some don’t.

Paige, 12 years old, was one of the children I talk to in Mississippi. I sit down with her in her living room on a Saturday morning. “We had an assignment after the presidential election,” Paige tells me. “We had to draw a picture of what we think the future is going to look like under our new government…The teacher actually made half the class redo it because she was unhappy with the results because she got a lot of walls and cities in flames or like evil-looking politicians.”

“What did you draw?” I ask. “I personally drew Trump behind a wall of fire,” she says, matter-of-factly. I ask her why she drew that particular image. “I just felt like we were making so much progress with Obama. Like on everything. Like women’s rights, gay rights, racism, like things like global warming. Then, like, now that we have the new president — it’s like a million steps backward.”

A bit later, I ask her if she thinks the election of Trump has had any immediate impact on kids.

She nods. “I think that him being elected has made some people think, ‘Oh, well, since our president has these beliefs, it’s okay.’…Like him being disrespectful to women, some people are like, ‘Oh [if ] the president did that in his past, it’s okay for me to do that,’ … and that’s not okay.”

Zena, another white 12-year-old girl growing up in Mississippi talks to me about some recent changes in how some of her friends are relating to their parents.

“Trump’s not the best person and I think we all know that,” she tells me. “I have friends with parents who are like, ‘We need to raise you like this, and you need to do this, and you need to be a big supporter of Jesus and Trump and racism, and [my friends] are like, you know, ‘I’m going to need you to take a few steps back.’…These kids are like, ‘I should do some of my own research before I jump headfirst into his big agenda.’”

Zena goes on to tell me about one friend who is outraged by Trump’s racism despite her parents’ full support of him. “She argues with her parents all the time,” Zena explains. “What about you?” I ask. “Do you think we still have racism in America?” “I think we are 100 percent not past racism,” she states definitively. “I think recently everyone has had this realization that we are not past this because there are people … who sit in the big chairs and say, ‘No. I don’t want that law [that would help racial minorities] passed,’ and I feel like it’s a problem because the people who have power … they like use it for the wrong reasons. I don’t think we are past [racism] because people in power like Trump aren’t allowing us to get past it. And that sucks.”

Trump’s election has made 12-year-old Charlie, who is also white, rethink aspects of President Obama’s time in office. “I knew President Obama was the first black president, but I didn’t understand the significance of it until Trump became president,” 12-year-old Charlie tells me one afternoon at a restaurant in Mississippi. Charlie attends a public school that is almost 70 percent black. Like many of the white kids I interviewed, Charlie tells me that lately he has been talking about racism with his parents, his friends, and his teachers “all the time.”

“Trump has definitely done something to make things worse,” he tells me.

I ask him what it was like at his school around the time of the election.

“I was surprised [when Trump won]. We did this vote at our school and it was 16 people who voted for Trump while the 360 other people voted for Clinton. But I heard that at this other school [nearby] … the vote was so Trump.”

“How is it that these two schools that are located pretty close to each other have such different results?” I ask him.

“Well, I think our school is more racially diverse than that school,” he responds. Based on his experience growing up in Mississippi — like Crystal — Charlie could also see a connection between support for Trump and whiteness.

A number of white children, in both Massachusetts and Mississippi, tell me they are shocked and outraged by what they perceived to be racism radiating from the highest seats of power. For these kids, Trump’s presidency not only challenges their understanding of the country but also sheds new light on previously held notions about race in America. In addition to their outrage, these children also exhibit racial empathy for people of color, immigrants, women, and other groups that they perceive to be under attack by the Trump administration. In fact, part of what they dislike so much about Trump is how badly he treats the vulnerable and how he seems to bully the marginalized.

Other white children I speak with have a different reaction. They don’t all consider Trump’s racism to be a problem. Children, in both Massachusetts and Mississippi, tell me that even though they recognize Trump’s racism, they ultimately don’t care.

Twelve-year-old Erin lives in Mississippi and attends a former segregationist academy that is still almost entirely white. Erin knows she is white, she explains, because “I was born in America and my skin is white.” I ask her how she felt after Trump won the election. “I was happy he won because I think he knows how to handle, like, people who threaten us and stuff.” She describes kids at her school making jokes about building a wall at recess, but she says she did not tell the teacher because she “did not think it was a big deal.” Like many of the kids, Erin also shares her views on the differences she has observed since President Obama was in office: “When Barack was president, like, there was a lot of tension going on ’cause he was, like, the first black president … the people didn’t think it was right that he should be president because he was black. Now we have a white president again.”

When Erin is asked if she recognizes the rise of racial tension in the United States right now, she acknowledges that Trump “has said racist things,” but she isn’t too bothered by it. “I honestly think it’s fine,” she says with a laugh. “I don’t really care.”

Erin’s attitude echoes what contemporary social scientists have found when studying the racial attitudes of white Americans. White people in the United States have found more subtle ways to express their prejudices toward people of color over time. These new forms of racism often help people maintain the external appearance of not being racist even as they continue to engage in practices and behaviors that reproduce racial inequality — a way of “saving face” so to speak. Drawing on findings from a large, national survey of racial attitudes spanning 40 years, sociologist Tyrone A. Forman finds evidence for an increasein what he defines as “racial apathy” in the United States. White racial apathy, he argues, “refers to lack of feeling or indifference toward societal racial and ethnic inequality and lack of engagement with race-related social issues.” In his research, Forman finds an increase in whites’ use of “I don’t know” or “I don’t care” when asked survey questions about racial integration.

When it comes to young people specifically, Forman and his colleague, sociologist Amanda E. Lewis, explore expressions of racial apathy in white high school students over time. They find that instead of new generations of white kids being less racist and more tolerant than generations before them, this population instead embraces more subtle forms of racism like being indifferent to racial inequality. Data from this important research suggests that racial apathy is actually on the rise.

In talking with some of the white children in my study, I find similar patterns. For instance, Blake, who is 10 years old and lives in Massachusetts, tries many different ways to avoid identifying his race. Eventually, though, he tells me he is white. After talking with him a bit about his hockey team and upcoming game, I ask him what he thought the day after Trump was elected.

“I didn’t care,” he tells me, shrugging.

When I ask him if he thinks Trump is racist, he responds, “I don’t know ’cause I’ve never heard him be racist. But he said um, that we’ll build a wall between Mexico. … Mexico is like part of our world so you shouldn’t try to keep them out.” Blake tells me that there is racism still in America, but that he doesn’t really know much about it. “I’ve never heard anybody say [anything racist],” he tells me. He explains he does not talk about race or racism with his family members. Generally, he says, he does not think much about racism — but he knows that it exists.

“Yeah.” He tells me. “But I don’t pay attention to that stuff.”

Betsy, who is 12 years old, white, and lives in Massachusetts, is more engaged with politics than Blake. She tells me that she loves knowing what is going on in the world. In fact, she gets up early to drink a cup of tea and watch the news before school every morning.

“I feel like I’ve heard stuff on the news about [Trump] being racist, but like, the [news anchors] exaggerate stuff. But I don’t really think he’s racist. I think when he does one thing wrong, people turn it against him.” She can discuss many of the issues that have come up while Trump has been in office, like the wall and the Muslim ban. “Overall, I’m not saying he’s the best president, and he’s definitely not the worst. But he’s not racist. There might have been one or two incidents when he was racist, but he’s not racist.” Betsy tells me that even though she wishes we could have elected a woman for president, from her perspective, Trump is “fine” and even though he is racist sometimes, she does not think that it is a major problem.

Back in Mississippi, 12-year-old Ellie, who is white, tells me about voting in a mock election at her private school, complete with mock voter ID cards that students had to show before casting their mock ballot. “Everyone wanted Trump to win and they were like, ‘If you want Hillary to win, then you’re terrible.’” Ellie was not surprised when Trump won the actual election. “I knew he was probably gonna win,” she tells me. “I didn’t really think anything about it [when he did.]” Ellie talks about how she liked one of the other Republican candidates better than Trump but that ultimately, she was happy Trump won.

When Ellie is asked about her thoughts on racism in the United States today, particularly in light of Trump’s election, she says she has heard people say he is racist, but she “do[esn’t] really know.” She also explains that her family does not talk about racism. “There’s not really any [racism] going on in Mississippi but there might be in like, other states, I just haven’t noticed anything. … I don’t really know. … It’s not something I care about.”

Kids offer different versions of this opinion. James, a 12-year-old boy who identifies as “Caucasian” and who goes to the same school as Ellie, “felt good” after Trump was elected because he supports many of Trump’s positions, even the more controversial stance on the wall between the United States and Mexico. James understands that Trump’s policies may upset people, but he ultimately cares more about other things. For example, he spends a lot of time discussing the conflict between the United States and Muslim countries. “I think it’s silly that [conflict] is still going on,” he says. “They’ve been fighting since 1999 and nobody’s won. Why [hasn’t the United States] dropped an atomic bomb on them? It would just end them, so they wouldn’t like, come at us again.”

In terms of racial politics at the national level, James recognizes that racism exists but does not think that it is serious enough to merit a solution or any political action. Regarding football players kneeling at NFL games, he says, “Some people are doing it because they don’t like the president. They don’t like racism. They don’t like the way some people are getting treated. … But if [they] want to live in America, why [are they] kneeling instead of like, loving our country that people fight for every day so we can be free? If they don’t like wanna stand for the Pledge of Allegiance or the National An

them, why are they living here?” James makes it clear that he understands these protests to be about real racism in America, but he ultimately concludes that racism is not a legitimate reason to protest.

Ava, who is 12 years old and white, also likes Trump but finds him “embarrassing” at times. Sometimes, he “acts like a kid,” she says explaining that her family and friends share the hope that he “straightens out soon.” Despite how embarrassing he is, Ava goes on to say that she was happy Trump won. But, she still thinks “he seems kinda mean.” When I ask her what she means, she says: “Well, I don’t really want him to build a wall even though it keeps some mean people out,” she explains. “There’s usually nice people who want, like, a better life too.”

When Ava is asked if she thinks that the president is racist, Ava replies, “Mmm, maybe, sorta, kinda because he built the wall and because like, he wants to keep some religions out. And I think if it’s just because of like, the religions, we could try to teach them like, about God and like that Jesus Christ came for our sins.” For Ava, racism is, again, not an important issue. Even if Trump’s wall and Muslim ban are “maybe sorta kinda” racist, the real issue with these policies is that they might prevent people from converting to Christianity.

Jason, who is 11 years old and identifies as white, views Trump in a similar “kinda racist” way as Ava. His reaction to Trump winning the election was, “I didn’t care.” When asked if he thinks Trump is racist, Jason replies, “Trump is kind-of racist, kind-of not. He kind-of is building a wall so other people won’t come in.” I ask him what he would say to Trump if he had the opportunity.

“I would make a joke like, ‘Hurry up and build that wall!’” Jason goes on to say that during recess, kids made other “jokes” about immigrants. To Jason, even if Trump’s wall is “kind-of racist,” he does not see a problem with making jokes about it, or replicating the racism in his own conversations or playful interactions with his peers.

The views of children like Ellie, James, Ava, Jason, and others are in direct opposition to those of children who are fearful of or outraged by the Trump administration. Even when this group of kids identifies racism in the words and actions of the president and his administration — even when they agree that Trump is doing something racist — they do not really seem to care. Although they are aware of racism, they would prefer to not think about it.

Indeed, racial apathy is not new, and I found signs of it among the many children I spoke with during the Obama era. But, in my previous work, kids who expressed this apathy embraced a “colorblind” racial logic — they believed that because a black man was president, American society didn’t have to worry about racism anymore. This is different from the apathy I observed in many of these white children today. Based on this new research, it seems that some kids are learning not to care about racism or racial inequality in any way, even when it is explicitly present. The narrative seems to be shifting: “I don’t see racism, so I don’t care” is becoming, “I see racism, and I still don’t care.”

¤

Social science research makes it abundantly clear that, across the board, children today are growing up in a country with increasing economic inequality and “deep differences of opportunity” (Kids Count, 2017). Race and wealth disparities between children are well documented in a wide variety of realms like education, health, the criminal justice system, the child welfare system, the labor market, housing, wealth holdings, and so on. American children are growing up in this context, among tremendous race and class inequality and deep powerful political divides. Based on my new research, however, it seems that there is another type of division separating today’s younger generations: how they respond to explicit forms of racism.

Why is this division important? As psychologist Derald Wing Sue puts it, rather than expressing a “conscious desire to hurt,” racial apathy conveys a “failure to help.” That failure is twofold: it is not just a failure of action, it’s a failure of empathy — it’s the failure to even care about the persistence and consequences of racism in the United States. This “failure to help” — this failure to concern oneself with the suffering and humanity of others — is a powerful tool, used to reproduce and perpetuate existing racial oppression. As Forman and Lewis ask:

If, in the face of entrenched, systemic, and institutionalized racial inequality, most whites say that they have no negative feelings toward racial minorities but feel no responsibility to do anything about enduring racial and ethnic inequalities and in fact object to any programmatic solutions to addressing those inequalities, is that progress, or is it rather a new form of prejudice in its passive support for an unequal racial status quo?

White peoples’ disinterest in racism — or the more active refusal of interest in human suffering — dramatically increases the stakes for racially marginalized people. Every child of color I interviewed not only articulated disgust and outrage with the president’s racist language and actions but also described feeling scared, angry, anxious, upset, and worried because of Trump’s presidency and specifically what his racist actions might mean for themselves or the people they love. They told me about their nightmares and about drawing violent images. They talked to me about feeling fearful and not being able to relax when out in public or around authority figures. As one 11-year-old told me, “When Trump got elected, I was actually kind of nervous. My dad isn’t a citizen. If [Trump] sends him back, he’s not going to be able to come back and I won’t be able to see him. … Like, like [one time recently] we were just driving and the police were behind us and I got scared because if he were to get pulled over, they would arrest him and they’ll send him back. I am scared.” She was on the verge of tears.

Empathy alone will not solve racism and racial injustice in America. But, in the Trump era, when children are confronted with the stark reality of the legacy and persistence of racism in the United States, it appears that they respond in different ways. For black, brown, and other marginalized children, this reality seems to be connected to feelings of stress, fear, anger, and anxiety. For some of the white children I spoke with, this reality seems to be connected to empathy, anger, and a sense of concern for their peers. But, for other white children, this reality simply does not matter, even though they know and can acknowledge that it exists. If children cannot develop empathetic perspectives, if they cannot learn to care about the suffering or humanity of their peers, what does that suggest for our future? Collectively, we must identify, acknowledge, and resist the power of racial apathy — and recognize the destruction it brings to our democratic society, to our political efforts, and to the children growing up in this world.

¤

Margaret A. Hagerman is an assistant professor of Sociology at Mississippi State University. She is the author of White Kids: Growing Up with Privilege in a Racially Divided America (NYU Press.)

Source: https://lareviewofbooks.org/article/care-dont-children-racism-trump-era/

[andrea-lyn]

I posted 1,338 times in 2021

318 posts created (24%)

1020 posts reblogged (76%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 3.2 posts.

I added 870 tags in 2021

#ted lasso - 162 posts

#the old guard - 146 posts

#fanart - 126 posts

#ted lasso spoilers - 116 posts

#joe x nicky - 62 posts

#trc - 62 posts

#roswell new mexico - 61 posts

#pynch - 51 posts

#malex - 45 posts

#fic meme - 39 posts

Longest Tag: 138 characters

#okay but really i am so glad that i am basically just being a listening post and an accountability person because their fics are fantastic

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

it took him a while, but michael guerin finally found his forever home, huh

76 notes • Posted 2021-09-28 02:50:50 GMT

#4

Okay, let’s do morning thoughts on Nate, specifically after this last episode:

First and foremost, I don’t think the narrative is asking us to root for him. If anything, they are bringing up the fact that he is not to be rooted for by giving us a sympathetic ‘done nothing wrong’ character in Will to show that this is bad, this is not what we want.

That said, I love that Ted Lasso and its writers lets its characters have shades of gray so much. I think what this episode tells me is that Nate is desperate for extrinsic approval because he’s too insecure to have his own self-motivation/self-confidence. Again, this is not to excuse him, but we see the blocks of not getting approval (father), getting insufficient approval (mother not getting it right), or one voice being critical in a sea of approval on Twitter (not being 100% approved of). He is constantly seeking it from external sources and when it’s not there, he needs to feel powerful or “better”.

And I’ve seen other comments about how he goes after “weaker” people or those lower on the totem pole (Colin, Will), and I think that’s very apt. He knows that he’s not going to get pushback. Even with Colin, think about last season. When he roasted Colin and the other players, he got approval. The team LOVED it, they lauded him for it. They laughed and he was laughing and everything was fine. So now he does it again, except he’s in a position of power now and hasn’t adjusted and it’s okay that he’s learning. It is okay that he is fucking up. It won’t be okay if he keeps going without consequence, but even Beard has started to notice. Given that the apology definitely left Colin little option but to accept it (as others have said, public, only prompted when ‘caught’), and that Ted has actively asked if he needs to get involved, I really do not think we’ve seen the last of it.

And I do think Nate is going to end up in that therapy chair and he’s going to learn that you can be hurt, but as Rebecca learned last season, hurting others to make yourself feel better is a nasty thorny path to go down. 

But right now? Believe. Because I love the narrative and the nuance and just like the episode said: The truth’ll set you free, but first it’ll piss you off, and right now, we get to be angry, but I do think they’ll set up the path out of the dark forest.

96 notes • Posted 2021-09-03 12:43:12 GMT

#3

I can’t wait for Michael and Alex to be making out at/near his bedside when Kyle wakes up from his coma, so we can get a ‘uhhhhh how long have I been out’

101 notes • Posted 2021-09-14 02:00:39 GMT

#2

look at me, I am old, but I’m happy

(for @christchex because I truly believe her to be #1 Sanders supporter)

The damn kids are keeping something from him. None of them are good liars at the best of times, but every time Sanders shows up when Michael’s friends are around, suddenly they go real quiet. At first, he writes it off as stupid youthful hormone shit. It’s probably something to do with that Manes boy that Michael doesn’t want to talk about. Only, then Alex Manes starts coming around, Michael’s a lot happier, and the weird behavior keeps going. Something’s up, and it’s something Michael’s actively not telling him. “You know, I ought to fire you,” Sanders says one Sunday, when he and Michael are working on the sunflower fields. Michael scoffs, glancing up from the seeding mechanism he’s been working to fix, but he avoids meeting Sanders’ eyes. He’s known this boy since he tripped out of a pod and he knows when he’s about to be lied to. “I’d like to see you try,” he mutters, but his curiosity is sparked. “Why are you bothering to do that when most of my time is volunteered?” “Because you and your friends are keeping something from me.” “We’re not,” Michael lies. “You’re a terrible liar, boy,” Sanders warns, but he lets him get away with it. Just this once, he lets him. Michael waves him off and grabs his bundle of sunflowers to take back to the Airstream. He doesn’t say what or who they’re for, but Sanders knows. It’s the Manes boy, who’s been lurking around and grinning like an idiot all the time. With Michael gone, Sanders is left to consider what it is that’s being whispered about behind his back. There’s enough alien secrets in this town to fill a gossip rag, but Michael’s been fairly honest with him recently, even if he’s been trying to hide how gone he is over his thing with Alex Manes. The truth is this -- he’s an old man. The boy he used to be is a memory and a distant one at that. He’s taken Walt and locked him away behind mountains of bottles and liquor. There’s so much trauma related to those days that he actively works as hard as he can to forget it, and that’s why it takes him so long to realize that maybe he actually knows a bit more than he realizes when it comes to one of those alien secrets.

The secret they’re keeping comes to roost soon after. Well, roost ain’t exactly the word. “They still allow relics like you in this place?”

When Sanders had still been a child and had been happy with Miss Nora and Miss Louise, he’d always recalled their tension around the man they called Jones. They tried to keep it a secret from him then, too, and it’s irritating as hell that history’s repeating it-damn-self. “Relics like me belong more than you do around here,” Sanders scoffs, tossing the wrench into the toolbox. “I’m looking for Michael.” Sanders turns to take in the look of him. He blames his age on the fact that Max Evans never made him feel that icy chill down his spine to spark recognition. All those years with that face in front of him and he never remembered Jones, not until the alien himself busted out and started scaring Sanders all over like he’s a kid. He’s not a kid, though. He’s an old man tired of this bullshit and he’s not about to let an asshole push him around. “Michael,” Sanders says sharply, “ain’t none of your business.” “He’s none of yours either,” Jones says calmly. “Besides, you’re right. It’s not business. It’s family.” It comes back in fits and starts. Miss Nora’s discomfort with Jones’ hand on her shoulder, but the possessive way Jones held onto her. The way Jones had always seemed more occupied with one of the pods. The possessive and keen look in his eye when he’d looked at Walt dismissively, like a human child that Nora took a liking to could never pass muster. There’s only one explanation that Sanders sees, but as far as he’s concerned, it’s crap. “You’re not that boy’s father,” Sanders scoffs. “Or, you might be by blood or whatever alien junk flows through those veins of yours. That boy needed a father growing up and I sure as hell didn’t do the job well enough, but at least I’ve been here. At least I’ve been trying. That’s a hell of a lot more than you can say.” He’s an old and very stupid man, seeing as he knows how much Jones can hurt him. That raised alien hand glowing furiously red is a bad sign, but Sanders decides that if this is how he’s going out, defending Michael is the way he wants to go. “I might have been late getting my act cleaned up, but I still gave him everything I could. I’d die for that boy,” Sanders vows. “For my kid.” Jones scoffs, amused by Sanders’ loyalty like it’s a joke, but then, he always has been an ass, hasn’t he? “Funny you should say that, because today’s your lucky day for getting what you want.” He approaches swiftly, but before he can seal that glowing hand on Sanders’ chest, he just … stops. Sanders refuses to blink. He’s going to stare down his death as long as Jones wants to kill him, which is why he doesn’t notice that he’s being held in place by someone else’s alien powers. “Try,” Michael Guerin snaps at Jones, where he’s holding a bundle of sunflowers in one hand, and holding Jones in place with the other. “You’re not gonna like what happens to you.” Sanders is pretty sure Michael’s bluffing and that when it comes to these two, Michael’s not the one with the upper hand. Still, Jones is playing some kind of long game, because he steps back and lifts both hands up, stepping back and away. “Just two old friends catching up,” he insists, a look in his eyes that says he’s coming back to find Sanders when Michael’s not around. Still, he goes. He goes and he doesn’t look back, leaving Sanders to exhale, slumping over the pick-up truck he’s been working on. “What the hell were you thinking?” Michael demands. “Taunting him like that? He’s an evil dictator! He’s…” “Yeah, yeah, I got the gist decades ago,” Sanders cuts him off. “All I know is what he’s not, and that’s any kind of father to you. Because I might not be the world’s best Dad, but when it comes to it these days, he doesn’t get to swan in and make you feel like you owe him anything. He doesn’t get to make you feel like you belong to him.” This is all getting too damn emotional for him, but he wants to make one thing clear. “I know I didn’t manage the way I should’ve, but if anyone’s a father to you these days, it’s me.” With that said, he gives a firm nod, and hopes that he’s not going to do anything

embarrassing like start crying about it. Well, he might not, but Michael’s struggling to keep it together, by the looks of it, so maybe that’s exactly what it is he needs to hear. “What the hell are you doing back here anyway?” Sanders grunts, when the awkward silence drags on too long. Michael clears his throat, gesturing to the Airstream with the flowers (and conveniently wiping at his nose). “I forgot some papers that I wanted to go over with Alex,” he says, “Lucky I did, or you would’ve been alien dust.” “I got a few tricks up my old sleeves,” Sanders promises, even if he doesn’t have them yet. “So. You and Alex Manes, huh? You ready to admit to me that it’s a thing yet?” Michael wrinkles his nose, but he’s clearly not thinking about Jones anymore, so Sanders considers it a mission accomplished. “How about you start worrying about how much of a thing it is when Alex needs to come get permission from my Dad to marry me,” Michael quips, and he sounds free and happy and brazen and goddamn high. It’s the most that Sanders could ever hope for. “That likely to happen anytime soon?” Michael shrugs, ducking back out of the Airstream with the papers. “You know I don’t do things slow.” “Don’t I ever,” he mutters. “Just warn me before I got alien grandchildren running around the damn scrapyard, will you? The place needs to be alien-proofed.” The look of sheer glee on Michael’s face settles something in Sanders’ chest. He knows he’s happy. He knows he’s settled. He might have missed too many damn years when he was younger, but at least he’s trying now. “Go on,” Sanders encourages. “Go be with your friend,” he teases. “You gonna be okay?” “I’ve survived worse,” Sanders promises. “Now, get,” he insists, and watches Michael leave the scrapyard, off to woo his paramour. As for him? Well, he’s got a hell of a long drive ahead of him to get to the reservation if he wants to pick up some pollen, but after tonight, Sanders figures he ought to protect himself. He’s got a family to worry about, after all. 

214 notes • Posted 2021-09-21 21:51:11 GMT

#1

I have a thousand thoughts about Ted Lasso, but really it boils down to how heartbreaking it was that Nate was wrong that Ted stopped caring, but it also doesn’t matter because it’s not like he knew better. Ted telling him that he keeps that photo with one of his son won’t make it better and Nate’s so far in his own spiral and issues that it’s not going to change.

But really, the rest of the match, what became so clear is that Nate does not have a place at Richmond because Nate does not believe in the same coaching tactics and theory. He sees Ted’s credit as potential blame. He benefits from Ted and Beard’s team building. The false nine only works because Roy gave good advice from experience about talking to the players. He’s gonna have a rude awakening at West Ham when the stick doesn’t actually work.

And yet, god I loved the episode. Richmond is STRONG and Richmond is SUPPORTIVE and Jamie has grown so much (DANI!) and the TINY LITTLE HELMET! And you know what? Nate doesn’t have a place in that. He willfully chooses to not have a place in that.

Maybe that will change in s3? Maybe it won’t. I think he’s in for some hubris at West Ham, but I appreciated them painting it to show that Nate does not belong because he made a choice not to. He made a choice not to be a team player, not to support his players, not to foster an environment of teamwork.

And now? He’s gotta live with those choices because you know, time is linear.

EDIT: And I’m doing my first rewatch and I think what starkly contrasts this is Jamie making a choice that promotes teamwork over glory, but also over strategy? They just mention that he’s the best penalty scorer but Jamie KNOWS what is more important is the team and his teammate. It’s giving Dani redemption. Nate makes the opposite choices and that’s why he will be a very different type of coach (aka, one whose team will fall apart at the first sign of adversity)

EDIT #2: Oh, also? After Rebecca’s “don’t work for that man”, interesting that Nate went to him. He knows who Rupert is. He knows what he might do. Also, Rupert is not hiring Nate out of the kindness of his heart or to support him. This is to get at Rebecca and Ted, so Nate is kind of screwed the moment he messes up because why would Rupert have his back?

236 notes • Posted 2021-10-08 12:57:24 GMT

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Dodgeball movie stiller quotes

#Dodgeball movie stiller quotes movie#

Justin Long, who played Average Joe’s teammate, Justin, was also hurt several times while filming.Leicester Metropolis supervisor Brendan Rodgers has focused membership house owners for a scarcity of switch exercise after the previous champions suffered their fourth consecutive loss to Manchester United. The brutal training must not have been enough though because Christine Taylor (who played Kate Veatch) was accidentally hit in the face twice by her husband Ben Stiller, once while rehearsing and once on set. The actors were required to train rigorously by attending a “dodgeball boot camp” several times a week. Though Dodgeball is undoubtedly one of the greatest comedies of the 21st century, it apparently wasn’t all fun and games to film. I’m sure this decision won’t haunt you forever.” - Lance Armstrong Did you enjoy these Dodgeball quotes? “Well, I guess if a person never quit when the going got tough, they wouldn’t have anything to regret for the rest of their life. Save yourself the embarrassment of losing with these losers in Las Vegas, La Fleur.” - White Goodman Funny Dodgeball quotesĢ5. My gym has stockholders, your gym doesn’t even have cup holders.” - White GoodmanĢ4. “My gym is worth more than four million dollars, your gym isn’t even worth four. “We’re opening a new Globo Gym in Mexico City, so I’ve been boning up on my Spanish.” - White GoodmanĢ3. But that actually happened though.” - White GoodmanĢ2. “Yeh, that’s me taking the bull by the horns, it’s how I like to run my business. Related Duke Nukem Quotes About the Legendary Video Game CharacterĢ1. You know, that’s the problem with… the American cinema: can’t handle any complexity in it, you know? “Don’t make me think, I just wanna be entertained”. “Here at Globo Gym we understand that ugliness and fatness are genetic disorders, like baldness or necrophilia, and it’s your fault if you don’t hate yourself enough to do something about it.” - White GoodmanĢ0. I never been there, but I read about it… in a book.” - White Goodmanġ9. The hippies finally got something right! Haha! Just kidding. “It’s called the Freedom of Information Act, Kate. “We shouldn’t be shackled up the employer/employee relationship…unless you’re into that kind of stuff a ha ha, cause I got some shackles in the back! a haha, just kidding, but really, I got them.” - White Goodmanġ7. “Line up ladies!” - Patches O’Houlihan Best Dodgeball quotes and lines from White Goodmanġ6. “You’re about as useful as a poopy flavored lollipop.” - Patches O’Houlihanġ4. “I guess you’re right, I’m not really a Pirate.” - Steve the Pirateġ3. “Ouchtown, population: You, bro!” - Pepper Brooksġ2. “I just threw up in my mouth a little bit.” - Kate Veatchġ1. “Thank you, Chuck Norris.” - Peter LaFleurĩ. “Remember the 5 D’s of dodgeball: Dodge, duck, dip, dive and dodge.” - Patches O’Houlihan Best Dodgeball quotes and one-linersĨ. Related Cat Quotes That Are Too Purrfect For WordsĦ. “F*ck you, Chuck Norris!” - White Goodman You know that I know that I know you.” - White Goodmanĥ. “We ARE the Globo Gym Purple Cobras … and we will, we will, rock you!” - White GoodmanĤ. “Oh, I don’t think I’m a lot dumber than you think that I thought that I thought I was once.” - White Goodmanģ. “If you can dodge a wrench, you can dodge a ball.” - Patches O’HoulihanĢ.

#Dodgeball movie stiller quotes movie#

We hope these Dodgeball quotes take you back to the first time you saw this movie and make you laugh harder than ever before.ĭon’t forget to also check out these Beetlejuice quotes for the strange and unusual. It’s the story of true underdogs who go against some of the world’s best and most villainous dodgeball athletes in order to save a place that they love. Silly, funny, and a little bit weird, Dodgeball follows a group of misfits led by Peter Le Fleur (Vince Vaughn) who enter Las Vegas’s Dodgeball tournament in order to save Le Fleur’s gym from being overtaken by a corporate gym chain run by White Goodman (Ben Stiller). In 2004 Dodgeball, starring Ben Stiller and Vince Vaughn was released to mixed reviews.īut despite lower critical ratings at first, this film has gone on to stand the test of time and is now a modern comedy classic. We hope you enjoy these hilarious Dodgeball quotes. It’s been over 17 years since Dodgeball: A True Underdog Story was released and since then this film has become a comedy classic.